THE  STORY  OF 
MY     UNCLE     TOBY. 


"I  think  highly  of  Sterne— that  is,  the  first  part  of  Tristram 
Shandy ;  *  *  the  characters  of  Trim  and  the  two  Shandies 
are  delightful."— COLERIDGE'S  TABLE-TALK. 


THE     STORY     OF 

MY  UNCLE    TOBY,   &c. 


NEWLY  ARRANGED. 


PERCY  FITZGERALD,  M.A., 

AUTHOR   OF    "A   LIFE   OF   STERNE,"    "BELLA   DONNA," 
ETC.,   ETC. 


PHILADELPHIA: 
PORTER    &    COATES. 


THE    BAYARD    SERIES. 

Edited  by  the  late  J.  HAIN  FRISWELL. 

Comprising  Pleasure  Books  of  Literature  produced  in  the 
Choicest  Style. 

"  We  can  hardly  imagine  better  books  for  boys  to  read  or  for  men 
to  ponder  over." — Times. 

The  Story  of  the  Chevalier  Bayard. 

Joinville's  St.  Louis  of  France. 

The  Essays  of  Abraham  Cowley. 

Johnson's  Rasselas.     With  Notes. 

Hazlitt's  Round  Table. 

The  Religio  Medici,  Hydriotaphia,  etc.  By  Sir  THOMAS 
BROWNE,  Knt. 

Coleridge's  Christabel,  etc.  With  Preface  by  ALGERNON  C. 
SWINBURNE. 

Lord  Chesterfield's  Letters,  Sentences,  and  Maxims.  With 
Essay  by  SAINTE-BEUVE. 

Ballad  Poetry  of  the  Affections.     By  ROBERT  BUCHANAN. 

Abdallah.     By  EDOUARD  LABOULLAYE. 

Napoleon,  Table-Talk  and  Opinions. 

Words  of  Wellington. 

The  King  and  the  Commons.     Cavalier  and  Puritan  Songs. 

Vathek.     By  WILLIAM  BECKFORD. 

Essays  in  Mosaic.     By  BALLANTYNE. 

My  Uncle  Toby  ;  his  Story  and  his  Friends.     By  P.  FITZGERALD. 

Reflections  of  Rochefoucauld. 

Socrates  :  Memoirs  for  English  Readers  from  Xenophon's  Me- 
morabilia. By  EDW.  LEVIEN. 

Prince  Albert's  Golden  Precepts. 


PHILADELPHIA  : 
PORTER    &    COATES. 


LIFE  OF  LAURENCE  STERNE. 


SHE  life  of  one  who  was  a  clergyman  and 
prebendary  in  a  cathedral  town,  a  writer 
of  sermons  and  odd  romances,  and  a  student 
of  old  books,  would  not  seem  to  promise 
much  that  was  exciting  or  adventurous.  Yet,  the 
life  of  Laurence  Sterne  has  an  unexpected  flavour  of 
romance  and  incident ;  which,  from  his  cradle  literally 
to  his  grave,  dashes  his  life  with  an  oddity  and 
eccentricity,  that  only  too  faithfully  reflects  the 
extravagance  of  his  Tristram.  When  a  child  he  fell 
into  a  mill  race,  and  was  carried  under  the  wheel,  his 
life  being  saved  by  almost  a  miracle ;  and  when  he 
died  his  remains  were  snatched  from  the  grave  by 
resurrection  men  and  sold  for  dissection. 

An  Archbishop  of  York,  after  being  sorely  perse- 
cuted in  the  days  of  Cromwell,  left  behind  him  a 
large  family ;  the  eldest  of  whom,  Simon  Sterne,  was 
established  at  Elvington,  in  Yorkshire.  Roger  Sterne, 
youngest  son  of  this  squire,  and  father  of  the  famous 
Laurence,  was  put  into  the  army,  and,  like  my  uncle 
Toby,  had  nothing  in  the  world  but  his  commission 
to  start  him  in  life. 

His  regiment,  the  thirty-fourth,  took  its  share  in 
Marlborough's  wars;  and  in  1711,  during  the  campaign, 
the  young  officer  married  a  Mrs.  Agnes  Herbert, 

A 


ii  LIFE  OF  LAUKEXCE  STEEXE. 

widow  of  a  captain  of  good  family,  and  daughter 
besides  of  a  notorious  army  contractor  and  money 
lender,  in  whose  debt  the  officer  was.  This  poor  lady  was 
destined  to  have  an  unhappy  time  of  it,  following  her 
husband  from  quarter  to  quarter,  encumbered  with  her 
young  children.  On  coming  home  to  her  father's  father, 
at  Clonmell,  his  famous  son  Laurence  was  born,  on 
November  24th,  1713.  And  as  if  to  mark  the  occasion 
in  the  most  dismal  fashion,  the  regiment  was  "broke" 
on  that  very  day,  and  the  officers  cast  adrift  upon 
the  world.  Later  it  was  re-established  under  Colonel 
Chudleigh ;  and  then  commenced  for  the  family, 
steadily  increasing  up  to  seven,  a  series  of  disastrous 
wanderings  all  over  England  and  Ireland,  with  peril, 
shipwreck,  and  many  hardships  on  the  long  journeys ; 
the  young  family  was  much  thinned  by  death. 
About  the  year  1724,  Laurence  was  taken  by  his 
father  to  the  Free  School,  at  Halifax,  where,  under 
the  care  of  an  able  master,  Mr.  Lister,  he  remained 
till  he  was  nineteen ;  being  all  but  adopted  by  the 
officer's  elder  brother,  Squire  Kichard  Sterne,  of 
Elvington.  Three  years  later,  his  father  and  the 
regiment  embarked  for  the  siege  of  Gibraltar.  When 
quarrelling  with  a  Captain  Philips,  (more  probably 
Philpotts,  as  an  officer  of  that  name  was  in  his  corps), 
he  was  run  through  the  body,  and  died  in  consequence 
at  Jamaica,  in  the  year  1731.  A  goose  was  the  cause 
of  this  fatal  difference.  Though  he  survived  the 
immediate  effects  of  the  wound,  it  wore  away  his 
health  ;  "  and  when  he  was  sent  to  Jamaica,"  says  his 
son  in  an  affectionate  passage,  which  shows  that  he 
had  heart,  and  tenderly  recalled  the  father  from  whom, 
with  boyish  delight,  he  had  heard  the  story  of  the 
Flanders  wars — "  he  soon  fell  by  the  country  fever, 
which  took  away  his  senses  first  and  made  a  child  of 
him  ;  and  then,  in  a  month  or  two,  walking  about 
continually  without  complaining,  till  the  moment  he 
sat  down  in  an  arm-chair,  and  breathed  his  last." — 


LIFE  OF  LAURENCE  STEENE.  iii 

At  that  time  Laurence  Sterne  was  still  at  school, 
and,  on  being  soundly  flogged  for  perpetrating  the 
favourite  boy's  prank,  of  writing  his  name  on  the 
ceiling,  was  comforted  by  his  master  with  the  pro- 
phecy that  he  was  a  lad  of  genius  who  would  come 
to  preferment.  No  doubt,  he  was  a  clever,  eccentric 
boy ;  and  Colonel  Ord,  of  Longridge,  near  Berwick- 
on-Tweed,  who  came  to  the  school  shortly  after  Sterne 
left,  saw  the  name  still  upon  the  ceiling,  and  found  the 
tradition  of  his  humour  still  preserved,  and  instances 
of  his  wit  quoted.  When  he  grew  famous,  a  morning 
paper  recorded,  that  it  was  his  way  to  learn  when  he 
pleased,  and  not  oftener  than  once  a  fortnight. 

After  leaving  school,  his  cousin,  of  Elvington,  who 
treated  him  like  a  son,  sent  him  to  Jesus  College, 
Cambridge,  where,  in  July,  1733,  he  obtained  a  sizar- 
ship.  There  he  read  a  good  deal,  and  established  an 
unfortunate  friendship  with  the  loose  and  witty  John 
Hall  Stevenson,  author  of  "  Crazy  Tales,"  whose  com- 
panionship must  be  accountable  for  much  of  Sterne's 
outrages  against  decency.  Mr.  Cole,  the  antiquary,  re- 
membered Hall  as  "an  ingenious  young  gentleman, 
and  very  handsome."  In  March,  1735,  Laurence  ma- 
triculated, and,  in  January,  1736,  took  his  Bachelor 
degree.  In  the  March  of  the  same  year,  he  was 
ordained  deacon,  and  in  August,  1738,  priest.  ~N~o 
man  was  ever  more  unsuited  to  wearing  the  gown. 

He  now  came  to  York,  where  his  uncle,  Dr.  Jaques 
Sterne,  precentor  of  the  cathedral,  a  noisy  ecclesias- 
tical politician,  had  obtained  for  him  the  vicarage  of 
Sutton  ;  and  in  the  meanwhile  courted  his  first  love, 
Miss  Lumley,  of  Staffordshire.  This  was  to  be  the 
weak  part  in  Mr.  Sterne's  life — an  unrestrained  and 
incurable  tendre  for  the  fair  sex.  This  he  excused 
by  the  indulgent  names  of  flirtation,  innocent  passion, 
and  the  like.  But  such  fickleness  is  evidence  of  a 
certain  untrueness  of  heart — a  want  of  manliness 
and  honour.  The  whole  course  of  his  life  was  to  be 


iv  LIFE  OF  LAURENCE  STEBXE. 

dotted  with  these  "  affairs  of  the  heart,"  which  at  last 
grew  indispensable  to  his  spirits  and  comfort ;  as  he 
rather  absurdly  proclaimed  that,  in  one  of  these  fits, 
he  never  could  be  guilty  of  a  dirty  action,  and  that 
it  kept  his  moral  sense  healthy.  It  might  be  objected 
that  the  desertion  of  one  of  the  objects  of  his  evanes- 
cent passions,  was  something  like  a  dirty  action  ;  but  it 
must  be  allowed  that  the  Rev.  Mr.  Sterne  was  as  it  were 
privileged,  and  "wrote  so  beautifully"  on  love,  and 
was  so  devoted  to  the  sex,  that  his  ways  and  manners 
were  well  known.  His  courting  of  Miss  Lnmley  was 
romantic  enough.  He  wrote  her  passionate  die-away 
letters  ;  but  some  fantastic  misconception  as  to  money 
matters  prevented  them  coming  to  an  understanding. 
At  last,  she  fell  into  a  consumption,  and  then  showed 
her  lover  her  will,  in  which  he  had  been  left  every- 
thing. "  This  generosity  overpowered  me,"  says  Mr. 
Sterne  ;  and  on  the  30th  March,  1741,  they  were 
married  at  the  cathedral. 

They  were  quite  unsuited  to  each  other,  though  few 
ladies  would  have  suited  the  agreeable  and  mercurial 
clergyman  ;  but  she  had  a  homely,  matter-of-fact  mind. 
There  can  be  no  question  but  that  she  sat  for  Mrs. 
Shandy,  and  there  are  various  traits  of  her  in  her  hus- 
band's letters,  which  almost  prove  this  likeness.  She 
must  have  been  plain  also,  if  we  can  trust  a  curious  pen- 
and-ink  etching  of  her,  which  M.  Stapf  er  has  published 
in  his  monograph.  The  late  Mr.  Hawthorne  saw  a  pair  of 
cray  on  portraits  of  bothhusbandand  wife,  and  was  struck 
by  her  unpleasant  expression.  With  books,  painting, 
fiddling,  and  shooting,  Sterne  spent  his  time  at  Button — 
so  he  tells  his  daughter — leaving  out  some  love-making, 
which  he  pursued  at  York,  and  much  merry-making, 
at  Skelton  Castle  with  Hall  Stevenson,  where  he  paid 
frequent  visits,  met  some  of  the  abandoned  "  Monks 
of  Medmenham,"  and  pored  over  the  curious  old  books 
in  the  library.  Here  it  was  that  he  was  captivated  by 
the  piquant  oddities  of  such  writers  as  Bishop  Hall, 


LIFE  OF  LAURENCE  STERNE.  v 

Sir  Thomas  Browne,  Bruscambille.  and  the  author  of 
the  "  Moyen  de  Parvenir,"  who  helped  him  so  much 
in  his  Tristram.  "  Crazy  Castle,"  (Skelton)  was  a  most 
congenial,  quaint  old  place,  and  its  old  halls  and  towers 
saw  many  a  wild  prank.  In  the  meantime  his  first 
child  Lydia  was  born,  in  the  year  1745,  who  only  lived 
one  day.  The  following  year  he  obtained  a  prebend 
in  the  Cathedral,  worth  about  ,£50  a-year,  through  the 
interest  of  his  wife's  family.  He  now  figured  as  a 
"  wit "  in  the  cathedral  society,  and  preached  a  series 
of  strangely  dramatic  sermons,  wholly  unsuited  to 
a  country  congregation,  but  which  were  modelled 
on  the  fantastic  efforts  of  some  eccentric  mediaeval 
preachers.  Under  his  uncle's  patronage,  he  plunged 
into  the  virulent  politics  of  the  day,  but  soon  quar- 
relled with  him,  because  he  could  not  bring  himself  to 
write  party  paragraphs  in  the  newspapers,  though 
it  was  suspected  he  did  so  a  good  deal  on  his  own 
account.  In  1747,  his  second  daughter  was  born,  and 
christened  Lydia.  In  the  same  year  he  preached  a 
charity  sermon  in  York,  and  in  1752,  another,  before 
the  Judges  of  Assize,  in  the  cathedral.  This  was  an 
honour.  But  he  was  to  have  other,  more  congenial, 
matters  on  his  hands,  and  in  1759  was  to  fall  in  love 
with  a  Miss  Catherine  de  Fourmantelle,  a  young 
Huguenot  girl,  who  had  come  to  York  from  France. 
This  lady  he  pursued  after  his  favourite  fashion,  half- 
paternal,  half-pious,  or  wholly  sentimental,  and  it 
must  be  said  that  his  letters  are  very  charming  love- 
letters.  After  some  cathedral  wranglings,  in  which  he 
took  part  with  his  pen,  and  wrote  a  strange  squib, 
called  "  The  History  of  a  Warm  Watch  Coat,"  he 
began  to  set  to  work  on  his  great  book,  "  Tristram 
Shandy."  This  was  originally  quite  a  local  satire,  but 
owing  to  the  publisher's  advice,  he  struck  out  many  of 
the  allusions  and  made  it  more  general.  It  was  offered 
to  the  London  publishers  for  £50,  which  was  thought 
too  great  a  risk,  so  he  resolved  to  print  it  at  his  own 
expense. 


vi  LIFE  OF  LAURENCE  STERNE. 

There  was  great  excitement  in  York  attendant  on  its 
coming  out,  for  it  was  known  to  contain  much  personality. 
It  was  published  in  December,  1759,  and  in  two  days, 
Hinxham,  the  York  bookseller,  had  sold  more  than  200 
copies  at  five  shillings  each.  It  contained  many  local 
portraits  and  sketches, — among  others,  that  of  Dr. 
Burton,  an  accoucheur  of  repute,  as  Dr.  Slop,  Dr. 
Mead  as  Dr.  Kunastrokius,  himself  as  Yorick,  his  father 
as  Uncle  Toby,  Mrs.  Sterne,  and  Miss  Fourniantelle, 
with  all  sorts  of  stray  allusions. 

The  shire  was  in  a  storm.  He  was  abused,  remon- 
strated with,  and  exhorted  to  excise  largely  for  his 
second  edition.  Prudent  friends  warned  him  that  he 
was  sacrificing  his  chances  of  preferment.  He  was 
told  from  London  that  his  book  could  not  be  put  into 
the  hands  of  any  woman  of  character.  He  replied 
that  he  only  wrote  to  be  famous,  and  that  he  scorned 
to  kneel  in  the  dust  to  any  patron.  In  this  independ- 
ence he  certainly  was  genuine.  The  following  year 
he  went  up  to  London  for  the  season,  where,  as  Mr. 
Forster  says,  no  one  was  so  talked  of  and  admired  as 
"  the  tall,  thin,  hectic-looking  Yorkshire  parson." 

He  put  up  in  Pall  Mall,  and  his  rooms  were  besieged 
with  fine  company.  Within  twenty-four  hours  he  was 
engaged  to  ten  noblemen  and  men  of  fashion.  Lord 
Chesterfield,  Lord  Rockingham,  Fox,  Garrick,  Lords 
Lyttleton,  Spencer,  and  Edgcumbe  were  all  eager  for 
his  company.  But  what  was  strange,  all  the 
bishops  came  to  call  on  him.  Warburton,  the  Bishop 
of  Gloucester,  was  enchanted  with  him,  and  gave  him 
a  purse  of  gold.  Such  episcopal  patronage  to  the 
author  of  a  clever  but  indecent  book  was  surely  encour- 
agement to  go  on.  Lord  Falconberg  gave  him  the 
perpetual  curacy  of  Stillington,  worth  about  £70 
a-year.  Then  he  was  taken  to  Court,  supped  with 
Prince  Edward,  and,  in  short,  received  attention 
enough  to  overset  the  head  and  sense  of  any  poor 
country  parson.  He  had  quite  forgotten  the  Huguenot 


LIFE  OF  LAURENCE  STERNE.  vi 

lady,  who  wished  him  to  advance  her  interest  among 
his  great  friends,  and  who  at  last  followed  him  to  town. 
He  could  not  spare  her  a  day,  or  even  an  hour,  though 
he  had  solemnly  assured  her  she  was  to  succeed  his 
wife,  and  that  he  would  cling  to  her  in  death.  A 
strange  finale  to  the  adventure  is  endorsed  on  the 
packet  which  contains  her  letters,  by  a  Mrs.  Weston. 
That  ladyl  states  that  Sterne  courted  the  girl  five 
years,  had  then  deserted  her,  and  married  Mrs.  Sterne  : 
that  the  young  lady  in  consequence  had  lost  her  wits, 
and  that  she  was  the  original  of  Maria  of  Moulins. 
Dates  dispose  of  Mrs.  Sterne's  part  in  the  matter  ;  but 
there  is  no  doubt  of  his  promise  to  marry  the  young 
Frenchwoman,  as  well  as  of  his  desertion,  and  the  rest 
is  not  unlikely.  Flattery  and  self-indulgence,  and 
above  all,  the  indulgence  in  false  sentiment,  in  which 
the  world  encouraged  him,  blinded  him  to  the  suffer- 
ings of  others. 

Warburtpn's  odd  present  had  now  got  noised  abroad, 
and  Dr.  Hill  put  a  very  natural  construction  on  it. 
Tristram,  when  he  grew  up,  was  to  have  a  travelling 
tutor,  and  Warburton,  he  insinuated,  was  to  have  been 
pitched  on  as  a  model. 

It  seems  probable  that  the  proud  and  unscrupulous 
man  would  try  to  buy  off  so  dangerous  a  satirist.  When 
we  think  how  he  denounced  Wilkes's  indecency,  it  was 
not  likely  that  he  would  favour  one  who  followed  at 
a  humble  distance,  so  he  tried  to  make  the  object  of 
his  episcopal  patronage  more  decent  and  respectable, 
by  friendly  warnings.  When  these  were  not  attended 
to  he  complacently  began  to  fear  that  "  the  man  was  an 
irrevocable  scoundrel." 

Meanwhile  Sterne  was  pelted  from  "  cellar  to  garret," 
in  the  newspapers  and  reviews,  pursued  with  rhymes  and 
squibs  of  the  most  ribald  kind.  I  have  seen  a  unique 
little  caricature,  representing  him  as  standing  in  his 
robes  in  front  of  the  Venus  de  Medici,  with  this  inscrip- 
tion— 


viii  LIFE  OF  LAURENCE  STERNE. 

"  Behold  the  learned  prebend,  wise  and  grave, 
To  tawdry  wit  become  a  selfish  slave." 

But  these  attacks  only  added  to  his  popularity.  He 
dressed  up  his  old  Button  sermons—  from  the  specimen 
in  Tristram  the  public  were  eager  to  have  more— and 
for  them,  and  a  second  edition  of  Tristram  (exhausted 
in  three  weeks),  he  received  £480. 

At  last  he  returned  to  Yorkshire,  after  a  three 
months'  brilliant  campaign  in  Town,  where  he  had 
made  his  name  both  in  letters  and  socially.  He  moved 
to  Coxwould,  his  new  living,  leaving  his  curate  to 
look  after  Button  and  Stiflington,  and  established 
himself  at  a  quaint  old  house  still  standing,  and  which 
he  christened  "  Shandy  Hall."  It  is  known  by  that 
name  to  this  day.  But  he  could  not  rest  long  there. 
Before  the  winter  he  had  his  two  fresh  Shandys  ready, 
and  by  Christmas  was  in  town  again.  This  time  he 
was  more  than  six  months  away,  "  cantering  it  along 
on  his  haunches,"  and  enjoying  himself.  By  Christ- 
mas he  had  again  two  of  his  little  volumes  ready,  and, 
as  usual,  came  up  with  them  himself.  But  this  winter 
he  had  a  second  chest  attack— he  had  broken  a  vessel 
in  his  lungs  at  Cambridge  —  and  was  disordered. 
Tristram  was  beginning  to  flag  ;  an  account  of  his  tra- 
vels, done  in  a  Shandean  fashion,  would  stimulate  a 
languid  public,  and  in  1762  he  started  for  Paris. — 
There  he  made  nearly  as  great  "  a  success  "  as  in  Lon- 
don. D'Holbach's  and  other  noted  salons  were  thrown 
open  to  him.  Choiseul  was  curious  as  to  this  odd 
"Chevalier  Shandy,"  about  whose  eccentricity  he  heard 
so  much,  and  the  Duke  of  Orleans  paid  him  the  ques- 
tionable compliment  of  adding  his  portrait  to  a  gallery 
of  eccentric  men  that  he  had  formed.  Two  of  his  Shan- 
dyisnis  were  retailed  about  Paris ;  one  his  compact  with 
the  licentious  Crebilon,  that  they  should  write  books 
against  each  other's  proceedings,  and  divide  the  profits ; 
the  other,  his  pretending  to  know  and  taking  off  a 
certain  diplomatist,  at  a  dinner  party,  without  being 


LIFE  OF  LAURENCE  STERNE.  ix 

aware  that  the  diplomatist  was  sitting  next  to  him. 
He  now  sent  for  his  wife  and  daughter,  with  whom 
he  set  off  for  Toulouse,  where  they  were  to  pass  the 
winter.  A  number  of  English  families  were  settled 
there,  the  Hodges',  Hewetts',  and  others  ;  and  Mr. 
Sterne  set  on  foot  theatricals  and  all  kinds  of  amuse- 
ment. 

After  the  winter  was  over,  the  family  migrated  to 
Bagnieres,  and  thence  to  Montpellier,  where  the 
French  were  vastly  amused  with  Mrs.  Sterne's  per- 
tinacious pursuit  of  her  lord,  who  bore  it  "with  the 
patience  of  an  angel,"  until  he  caught  a  fever,  and 
was  almost  at  the  point  of  death,  under  the  barba- 
rous treatment  of  the  Montpellier  doctors,  who  gave 
him  "  cocks  flayed  alive,"  and  other  strange  nos- 
trums. He  fled  from  them  to  Paris,  where  he  got  well 
at  once,  and  preached  in  the  Ambassador's  chapel,  be- 
fore a  strange  collection  of  individuals — libertines  and 
beaux  esprits  of  all  kinds.  There  is  something  very 
profane  and  disagreeable  in  this  notion ;  but  the 
scene  would  make  a  dramatic  subject  for  a  painter. 
He  was  then  smitten  with  the  tenderest  pains  that 
human  wight  ever  underwent.  "  I  wish  thou  couldst 
conceive  how  deliciously  I  cantered  away  with  it  the 
first  month — two  up,  two  down — always  upon  my 
haunches  along  the  street,  from  my  hotel  to  here  ;  at 
first  once,  then  twice,  then  three  times  a  day ;  until 
I  was  within  an  ace  of  setting  up  my  hobby-horse 
within  her  stable  for  good  and  all  •  I  might  as  well, 
considering  how  the  enemies  of  the  Lord  have  blas- 
phemed thereon."  In  this  light  and  profane  fashion 
did  the  Rev.  Laurence  regard  his  attachments. 

In  August,  1764,  he  was  back  again  at  York,  on  the 
whole,  scarcely  improved  by  his  travels.  His  wife, 
tired  of  his  vagaries,  had  determined  to  stay  in 
France,  and  fixed  herself  at  Montauban  with  her 
daughter,  where,  as  far  as  money  went,  they  could  not 
complain  of  his  neglecting  them.  The  gay  Laurence 


x  LIFE  OF  LAURENCE  STERNE. 

was  utterly  unfitted  for  the  hum-drum  duties  of  hus- 
band or  father ;  society  was  grown  to  be  indispensable. 
He  found  time  to  "  knock  off"  a  couple  of  very  lean 
Shandys,  which  appeared  in  January,  1765.  But  he 
was  now  merely  trying  to  fill  out  his  yearly  contribu- 
tion, and  swelled  his  chapters  with  bits  of  fooling 
that  seemed  almost  an  affront  to  his  readers.  He 
proposed  taxing  the  public  regularly  for  many  years 
to  come,  and  making  his  Tristram  a  sort  of  annual. 
He  spent  some  time  in  London  ; — went  to  Bath,  — 
fell  in  love  with  Lady  Percy,  and  then,  finding  his 
health  growing  worse,  and  his  "  plaguy  cough  "  fasten- 
ing on  him,  determined  to  fly  to  the  continent.  About 
the  middle  of  October  he  set  off  on  his  famous  Senti- 
mental Journey,  —  met  those  adventures  at  Calais 
which  have  made  Dessein's  Hotel  famous, — had  a 
fresh  success  at  Paris,  and  set  off  for  Italy.  He  passed 
by  Rome,  Milan,  Turin  ;  was  everywhere  received  into 
the  best  society,  and  lived  a  dissipated  rackety  life. 
Coming  home,  he  went  out  of  his  way  to  hunt  up  his 
wife  and  daughter,  and  then  returned  home,  prophesy- 
ing that  he  should  live  these  ten  years.  With  the 
Christmas  of  1766,  he  had  flown  to  town  with  his 
wares,  a  single  volume  of  Tristram — the  last,  as  it 
proved  to  be, — two  new  volumes  of  Sermons,  and  his 
"Sentimental  Journey,"  nearly  complete,  which  he 
intended  should  run  to  four  volumes. 

His  lodgings  were  at  41,  Old  Bond  Street,  at  a  bag- 
wig  maker's,  and  the  house  is  still  to  be  seen.  The 
subscription  list  for  his  Sermons  sparkled  with 
famous  names,  English  and  foreign  ;  but,  by  this  time 
he  had  grown  so  infatuated  with  the  pleasures  of  town- 
life,  and  so  reckless  as  to  appearance,  that  the  public 
were  every  day  growing  more  and  more  scandalized. 
A  memorial  was  sent  in  to  his  Archbishop,  calling 
attention  to  the  discredit  brought  on  the  Church  by 
such  a  minister  going  uncensured,  and,  it  might  be 
fairly  added,  to  his  long  desertion  of  his  cure.  But 


LIFE  OF  LAUBENCE  STEBNE.  xi 

there  were  only  too  many  of  his  cloth  to  keep  him  in 
countenance,  and  the  excuse  of  his  miserable  health 
•was  a  genuine  one.  His  Archbishop,  too,  was  easy. 
The  worst  feature  was  his  "Tristram,"  which  was  grow- 
ing less  witty  only  to  become  more  indecent.  And 
soon  he  was  to  raise  fresh  scandal  among  his  friends 
by  the  notorious  "  Draper  "  episode.  This  was  with  an 
Indian  lady  who  had  come  over  an  invalid,  leaving 
her  husband  and  family  at  Bombay.  He  met  her  at 
his  friends  the  James' — people  whose  affectionate  sym- 
pathy and  interest  ought  to  disprove  much  that  has 
been  said  about  Sterne's  falsity  of  heart  and  sham 
sentiment.  They  were  kind  sensible  friends,  who 
knew  his  faults  and  warned  him  about  his  follies. 
Mrs.  Draper  was  more  interesting  than  handsome,  and 
was  quite  flattered  by  the  extravagant  admiration  of 
so  fashionable  and  celebrated  a  professor  of  the  Ars 
Amoris.  But  this  adoration  began  to  be  talked  of,  and 
was  only  interrupted  by  the  recall  of  the  lady  to 
India  ;  not,  however,  before  some  officious  friend  had 
reported  it  to  his  wife  and  daughter  in  France. 

The  father  had  to  defend  himself,  after  a  lame 
fashion,  to  his  child  Lydia  ;  and  must  have  at  that 
moment  felt  how  degrading  and  childish,  even  in  one 
of  his  age,  were  such  passions — for  he  was  now  not 
very  far  from  sixty.  When  Eliza  had  gone  down  to 
Deal,  where  the  Indiaman  was  lying,  he  began  to  write 
her  those  celebrated  letters,  "  Yorick  to  Eliza,"  which 
must  be  placed  on  the  shelf  with  the  Sorrows  of 
Werther,  and  other  records  of  blighted  love.  He 
also  sent  her  portions  of  a  most  curious  journal  of  his 
daily  life,  which  he  kept  for  her  benefit.  Half  of  this 
history  is  now  in  possession  of  Mr.  Gibbs,  of  Bath,  the 
rest  has  been  lost.  A  very  minute  and  curious  narrative, 
and  which  seemed  to  me,  from  the  glimpses  and 
extracts  with  which  I  have  been  favoured,  to  be  of 
singular  value,  as  a  picture  of  town  life  and  manner 
a  century  ago,  and  certainly  a  most  genuine  and  un- 


xii  LIFE  OF  LAUREXCE 

affected  specimen  of  Sterne's  writing.  This  journal 
was  submitted  to  the  late  Mr.  Thackeray,  when  he 
was  preparing  his  well  known  Lecture  on  Sterne,  but 
was  returned  as  being  of  no  assistance.  This  seems 
incomprehensible,  unless  it  be  explained  by  the  well 
known  story  of  the  Abbe  Vertot,  who,  when  offered  some 
valuable  documents  for  his  History  of  the  Knights  of 
Malta,  declined  them,  on  the  plea  that  "  his  siege  was 
over  "  and  he  could  not  alter  it.  Scattered  through  it 
are  many  good  stories,  accounts  of  dinners  and  suppers 
with  men  of  fashion,  and  some  rather  coarse  anecdotes. 
The  letters  of  Yorick  to  Eliza  are  a  strange  jumble  of 
love,  piety,  and  artful  argument,  and  full  of  vehement 
protestations  of  eternal  fidelity.  As  it  was  through 
the  vanity  of  the  lady  they  came  to  be  published,  it 
seems  highly  probable  that  there  were  interpolations 
as  well  as  omissions,  and  there  are  several  passages 
which  support  such  a  view. 

On  the  3rd  of  April,  the  East  Indiaman,  Earl  of  Chat- 
ham, sailed  away.  "  Eliza ';  must  have  been  a  woman 
of  extraordinary  powers  of  fascination  ;  and  Raynal 
has  left  in  his  History  of  the  Indies,  an  almost  frantic 
panegyric  on  her  channs. — She  came  back  to  England 
about  four  years  after  Sterne's  death.  But  in  one  of  these 
prodigious  "  ship  letters," — which  are  indeed  treatises, 
and  which  she  sent  from  India — she  gives  us  a  real 
prosaic  conclusion  to  the  Yorick  and  Eliza  romance. 
She  there  says  that  Mr.  Sterne  had  treated  her  badly, 
that  she  had  discovered  him  to  be  heartless  and  selfish. 
She  herself  died,  in  1778,  was  buried  at  Bombay,  but 
has  a  monument  in  Bristol  Cathedral,  which  proclaims 
that—  "  in  her  genius  and  benevolence  were  united." 
She  adds  another  to  the  list  of  ordinary  women,  like 
Burns'  Clarinda,  whom  the  admiration  of  men  of 
genius  has  made  immortal. 

After  her  departure,  a  sort  of  depression  seemed  to 
come  over  the  lover — a  kind  of  rueful  dissatisfaction 
with  himself,  and  hate  of  the  life  he  was  leading,  which 


LIFE  OF  LAURENCE  8TSKHTS.  xiii 

might  be  set  down  to  the  kindly  admonitions  of  Mrs. 
James.  His  health  was  growing  worse  every  hour,  and 
he  had  to  change  the  air  and  get  to  the  country.  This 
restored  him;  but  he  wrote  to  his  old  friend,  Stevenson, 
"that  his  heart  ought  to  be  merry,  as  he  never  felt  so 
well  since  he  left  college,  and  should  be  a  marvellous 
happy  man,  but  for  some  reflections  which  bow  down 
my  spirits.  But  if  I  live  but  even  three  or  four  years, 
I  will  acquit  myself  with  honour  and — no  matter  .  .  ." 
These  are  remarkable  words,  considering  the  man  to 
whom  they  are  addressed.  His  wife  and  daughter  at 
last  returned  to  him,  in  obedience  to  his  pressing 
entreaties.  At  this  time  there  may  be  noticed  a  more 
subdued  and  gentle  tone  in  him  ;  he"  was  having 
compunction  and  forebodings — and  perhaps,  with  a 
more  judicious  partner  than  Mrs.  Sterne  was,  helping 
a  daughter  whom  he  loved  extravagantly,  some  radical 
change  might  have  been  effected.  Here  was  the  re- 
deeming point : — on  this  daughter  he  doted :  and  for  her 
sake,  with  all  his  extravagance  and  pleasures,  he  kept 
his  Lydia  and  her  mother  well  supplied  with  means. 

He  now  left  them  in  York  in  the  season,  and  a  few 
days  after  Christmas  in  1767,  started  on  his  last  ex- 
pedition to  town. — "  Now,  I  take  Heaven,"  he  wrote 
solemnly  to  a  friend,  "  my  heart  is  innocent,  and  the 
sport  of  my  pen  is  just  equal  to  what  I  did  in  my 
boyish  days  when  I  sat  astride  of  a  stick  and  galloped 
away."  This  may  be  the  apology  for  his  speech  and 
manners  :  not  for  his  Sentimental  Journey,  which  was 
now  ready  to  be  published ;  his  only  excuse  for  which 
deliberate  defiance  to  decency,  is  the  encouragement 
of  friends  and  the  tacit  approval  of  really  good 
people,  like  the  James'.  Double  entendre,  if  it  was 
but  ingenious  and  elegant,  became  a  polite  accomplish- 
ment. It  did  seem  strange  that  just  about  the  week 
in  which  came  out  this  book,  from  which  so  much  was 
expected,  he  himself  should  be  seized  with  the  short 
last  illness  which  swept  him  from  the  world.  That 


xiv  LIFE  OF  LAUEEXCE  STERNE. 

extraordinary  book,  so  picturesque,  so  full  of  colour — 
but  so  corrupt  in  its  tone,  was  actually  to  begin  to 
make  a  new  reputation  for  him,  and  make  him  a  classic 
in  France.  But  he  was  not  to  know  of  this  success. 

At  the  beginning  of  March  his  old  enemy  came  to 
attack  him  again  ;  though  it  was  nightly  balls  and  his 
rackety  life  that  invited  the  attack.  He  was  worn 
out  by  the  illness,  and  his  treatment  wasted  him  yet 
more.  There  was  no  one  but  his  friend  Mr.  James 
to  look  after  him.  "  I  wish  I  had  thee  to  nurse  me," 
he  piteously  wrote  to  his  daughter,  "  but  I  am  denied 
that."  This  denial  may  have  been  occasioned  by  his 
own  faults,  or  by  his  wife's  peculiar  temper  ;  in  either 
case  it  is  hard  not  to  pity  theldying  humourist,  for 
such  he  was.  He  was  little  more  than  a  week  ill. 
His  last  letters  from  his  deathbed  show  a  warmth 
and  tenderness  that  went  deeper  than  that  sham 
sentiment  with  which  he  was  charged.  To  Mrs. 
James,  when  he  was  first  seized,  he  wrote  a  little 
note,  which,  as  it  has  never  been  published,  may  be 
given  here — 

"  Mr.  Sterne's  kindest  and  most  friendly  compli- 
ments to  Mrs.  James,  with  his  most  sentimental  thanks 
for  her  obliging  enquiry  after  his  health.  He  fell  ill 
the  moment  he  got  to  his  lodgings,  and  has  been 
attended  by  a  physician  ever  since — he  says  'tis  owing 
to  Mr.  Sterne's  taking  James's  powder,  and  venturing 
out  on  so  cold  a  day ;  but  Mr.  Sterne  could  give  a 
truer  account.  He  is  almost  dead,  yet  still  hopes  to 
glide  like  a  shadow  to  Gerard  Street  in  a  few  days,  to 
thank  his  good  friend  for  her  good  will.  All  compli- 
ments to  Mr.  James — and  all  comfort  to  his  good 
lady." 

One  later  from  his  death-bed,  commending  his 
daughter  to  that  lady's  charge,  is  piteous  and  almost 
despairing  beyond  description.  He  seems  to  have 
been  completely  deserted,  and  it  stands  to  the  dis- 
credit of  Mrs.  Sterne,  whatever  her  causes  of  com- 


LIFE  OF  LAUEENCE  STERNE.  xv 

plaint,  that  neither  she  nor  his  daughter  were  by  his 
bedside.  On  the  Friday  following,  which  was  March 
13th,  1768,  towards  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  the 
end  came  on.  He  complained  of  cold  in  his  feet  and 
limbs,  and  the  woman  who  attended  him,  began 
to  rub.  But  he  felt  the  cold  mounting  higher.  A 
footman  sent  to  enquire  after  him  from  a  merry 
party,  where  Garrick,  Hume,  and  Lord  March  were 
dining,  came  up  stairs  just  as  he  was  expiring,  saw 
the  wasted  arm  lifted  suddenly,  as  if  to  ward  off  a 
blow,  caught  the  words,  "now  it  is  come  !"  and  saw 
him  then  fall  back  in  death.  This  was  the  report  he 
brought  to  the  gentlemen  who  were  dining,  and  who 
"  were  very  sorry. 'J  In  a  burst  of  affectation  in  his 
Tristram,  he  wished  to  die  thus  deserted  :  and  must 
have  felt  how  cruelly  his  wish  had  been  gratified. 
We  may  wonder  too,  did  the  thought  of  the  legacy  of 
mischief  he  had  bequeathed  to  the  world  in  the  shape 
of  licentious  writing  further  distract  his  last  moments ; 
or  when  the  woman  was  rubbing  his  knee,  did  he 
think  of  Trim's  story  of  the  Beguine,  and  of  the  coarse 
satyr-like  colour  he  there  imparted  to  such  an  office 
of  charity.  There  were  ghastly  circumstances  following 
his  death.  He  was  buried  in  the  new  burying-ground 
at  Bayswater.  His  publisher,  Becket,  and  Mr.  Salt, 
of  the  India  House — Elia's  Sam  Salt — being  his  only 
mourners.  Only  two  nights  after,  the  resurrection- 
men  took  his  body,  sent  it  down  to  Cambridge,  where, 
as  a  Mr.  Collignon,  the  Professor,  was  anatomizing  it, 
it  was  recognized  by  a  friend.  This  was  all  on  the 
grim  side  of  Shandeism,  as  he  would  have  called  it, 
and  certainly  from  the  beginning  to  the  end,  his  life 
is  evidence  of  the  genuine  character  of  his  work. 

The  design  of  Tristram  Shandy,  Sterne's  great 
work,  is  not  original,  arid  is  founded,  in  the  main,  on 
Rabelais,  and  Martinus  Scriberus,  and  in  its  details 
is  an  imitation  of  the  old  humour  of  some  two 
or  three  centuries  before.  The  inditing  a  sort  of 


xvi  LIFE  OF  LAUJOESrOX  STESKE. 

grotesque  biography : — a  grave,  solemn  account  of 
the  birth,  education,  and  bringing  up  of  a  child,  was 
a  favourite  way  of  laughing  at  the  follies  and  hobbies 
of  the  times.  The  library  of  his  friend,  Hall  Steven- 
son, overflowed  with  strange  books  of  this  descrip- 
tion, written  with  a  serious  earnestness  and  gravity, 
on  trifling  and  odd  subjects,  and  which,  indeed,  is 
the  secret  of  the  Shandean  humour.  This  solemnity 
is  found  in  the  works  of  Bruscambille,  Montaigne, 
Bishop  Hall,  Rabelais,  and  many  more  ;  in  the  curious 
Latin  squibs  in  which  men  of  letters  of  the  sixteenth 
century  delighted — in  Erasmus'  dialogues — in  pas- 
sages of  Swift  and  Fielding.  "Jonathan  Wild," 
"  Gulliver,"  and  Essays  like  the  "  Modest  Proposal," 
are  all  in  this  key.  This  gravity  is  utterly  absent  in 
modern  attempts  at  humour,  and  is  perhaps  the  cause 
of  the  general  decay  of  wit.  Sterne  has  been  detected 
in  abundant  instances  of  plagiarism  in  this  direction, 
but  the  charge  has  been  made  too  much  of.  The 
truth  is,  these  are  the  weakest  portions  of  Tristram. 
They  are  affectations  and  excrescences,  drawn  in  as 
it  were  by  head  and  shoulders  to  fill  up  the  measure. 
For  he  reckoned  on  his  work  as  a  steady  income, 
and  proposed  to  tax  the  public  every  year.  Gradu- 
ally he  found  his  resources  failing  him,  and  the  un- 
dertaking a  drudgery  :  and  to  stimulate  public  inte- 
rest, had  recourse  to  these  borrowings,  which  soon 
took  the  shape  of  familiarities  and  freedoms  that 
amounted  almost  to  effrontery.  Such  were  the  blank 
and  marbled  pages,  wrong  headings  of  chapters,  "  the 
careless  squirtings "  of  his  ink,  resources  to  fill  up 
his  stipulated  two  volumes.  Further  proof  of  this 
is  found  in  his  inartistic  and  abrupt  dragging  of  his 
Uncle  Toby  and  Mr.  Shandy  abroad,  which  was  no  - 
more  than  the  insertion  of  his  own  travelling  diary, 
merely  to  fill  in  a  volume.  But  his  real  strength 
was  in  character — the  admirable  teachings — the 
knowledge  of  human  springs  of  action.  Where  he  was 


LIFE  OF  LATTKENCE  STERNE.  xvii 

dealing  with  my  uncle  Toby  or  Yorick  or  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Shandy,  lie  was  on  firm  ground.  As  may,  perhaps, 
be  found  in  reading  the  present  little  volume,  his  bits 
of  grotesque,  his  freedoms  and  familiarities,  may  be 
dispensed  with,  and  with  little  loss  of  effect.  For  the 
first  time,  these  characters  of  the  very  first  rank,  with 
all  the  domestic  scenes  in  which  they  figure,  may 
be  now  laid  on  the  drawing-room  table  and  read  with 
delight. 

To  the  French  nation  at  large,  Tristram  has  always 
been  unintelligible,  although  it  has  been  translated 
several  times.  But  the  Sentimental  Journey  enjoys  a 
high  popularity.  It  is  a  unique  book,  amazing  for  its 
perfect  flavour,  and  picturesque  tone — but  it  is  dis- 
figured by  meaningless  "  grossierete"s,"  indelicacies 
that  are  as  inartistic  as  they  are  scandalous.  The 
merited  retribution  has  been  an  abridgment  of  at 
least  one  half  its  popularity.  Sterne's  sermons  are 
strangely  theatrical,  and  utterly  inappropriate  in  a 
church.  And  though  they  have  obtained  the  imma- 
ture approbation  of  Mr.  Gladstone,  in  his  "  Essay  on 
Church  and  State,"  they  have  nothing  genuine  about 
them.  They  are  full,  too,  of  indecorous  Shandeisms, 
modelled  on  stock  jests  and  stories  relating  to  mediaeval 
preachers.  His  letters  are  admirable,  genuine,  free, 
graphic,  and  entertaining  in  the  highest  degree.  A 
new  essay  of  his  was  lately  published  by  M.  Stapfer, 
an  acute  French  writer,  which  is  admittedly  his  writing, 
and  which  I  have  no  hesitation  in  pronouncing 
genuine,  from  internal  evidence  which  seems  to  have 
escaped  M.  Stapfer,  viz.,  that  the  description  of  the 
garden  and  orchard  corresponds  to  Sterne's  own. 

It  might  have  been  expected  that  a  Life  of  Sterne, 
published  a  few  years  ago,  would  have  brought  out 
some  worthy  English  criticism  on  the  works  of 
such  a  writer.  But  it  was  reserved  for  the 
French  to  contribute  to  literature  a  true  appre- 
ciation of  so  great  a  writer.  M.  de  Monte"gut,  in 


xviii  LIFE  OF  LAURENCE  STERNE. 

one  of  those  admirable  and  exhaustive  articles  in 
the  Revue  des  deux  blondes,  furnished  a  speci- 
men of  Sue  yet  deep  French  criticism,  which  will 
hold  a  permanent  place  ;  while  M.  Stapfer,  in  his 
"Monograph,"  founded  on  "The  Life,"  has  ex- 
hibited &  finesse  and  delicacy  in  the  appreciation  of 
an  English  writer,  marvellous  in  a  foreigner.  Mr. 
Elwin,  in  the  "  Quarterly,"  had,  many  years  before, 
given  a  discriminating  view  of  Sterne's  life  and 
writings,  while  the  late  Mr.  Thackeray's  shallow  esti- 
mate of  Sterne's  character  was  merely  the  sensation 
of  the  hour.  There  was  something  almost  ludicrous 
in  the  venomous  way  in  which  he  assailed  the  great 
writer,  fastening  especially  on  what  he  thought  the 
hypocritical  side  of  his  character :  the  sham  sentiment, 
the  "leering"  Tartuffeism,  and  mock  humanity.  It 
has  always  seemed  that  there  could  be  but  one  solu- 
tion :  a  consciousness  of  the  same  unreality  in  the 
modern  writer's  own  satire  against  social  vices. 

Without  pursuing  this  comparison  further,  it  may 
be  pointed  out  into  what  gross    blunders    his  rage 

r'nst  Sterne  betrayed  him.  The  whole  tone  of 
lecture  in  which  he  criticised  Sterne  is  unbe- 
coming ;  as  where  he  calls  him  "  a  mountebank,"  and 
jeers  at  some  of  his  most  famous  passages,  on  the 
ground  of  their  insincerity.  This  tone  seems  to 
amount  to  an  utter  insensibility  to  fine  poetic  colour; 
as,  for  instance,  in  those  charming  little  series  of 
sketches  which  have  made  Dessein's  Court-yard  at 
Calais  famous — like  the  desobligeant,  which  has  been 
painted  again  and  again.  He  could  cavil  at  this  pretty 
etching — "Four  months  had  elapsed  since  it  had 
finished  its  career  of  Europe  in  the  corner  of  Monsieur 
Dessein's  court-yard,  and  having  sallied  out  thence 
but  a  vamped-up  business  at  first,  though  it  had  been 

twice  taken  to  pieces  on  Mount  Sennis 

Much,  indeed,  was  not  to  be  said  for  it,  but  some- 
thing  might,  and  when  a  few   words  will   rescue 


LIVE  OF  LAURENCE  STERNE,  xix 

misery  out  of  her  distress,  I  hate  the  man  who  can 
be  a  churl  of  them."  This,  said  Mr.  Thackeray,  was 
only  more  of  the  mountebank — "  Does  anyone  believe 
that  this  is  a  real  sentiment — that  this  luxury  of 
generosity — this  gallant  rescue  out  of  misery  of  an 
old  cab  is  genuine  feeling  1 ''  Such  lack  of  fine  sense 
is  inconceivable.  Sterne,  as  anyone  can  see,  never 
dreamed  of  such  a  view;  it  is  a  pleasant  bit  of 
trifling— persiflage  almost :  just  as  one  would  say — 
"  I  took  pity  on  the  thing."  But  it  is  impossible  to 
argue  on  such  nuances — they  make  their  own  appeal. 
In  worse  taste  was  his  sneer  at  the  description  of  the 
dead  ass — famous  all  the  world  over — "Tears  and 
fine  feelings,  and  a  white  pocket-handkerchief,  and  a 
funeral  sermon,  horses  and  feathers,  and  a  procession 
of  mutes,  and  a  hearse,  with  a  dead  donkey  inside. 
Pshaw,  mountebank  !"  Here,  again,  is  an  utter  mis- 
conception, as  the  whole  pathos  centres  in  the 
mourner  for  the  dead  ass. 

But  his  mistakes  as  to  facts  are  more  serious  :  such 
a  collection  of  blunders  was  rarely  collected  into  a 
few  pages.  He  says  that  Richard  Sterne  was  Arch- 
bishop of  York  in  the  time  of  James  II. ;  but  that 
prelate  died  in  the  reign  of  Charles  II.  "Roger 
Sterne  was  a  lieutenant  in  Handiside's  regiments," 
but  Roger  never  served  in  that  corps.  "  He  married 
the  daughter  of  a  noted  sutler  " — she  was  the  sutler's 
daughter-in-law.  "  One  relative  of  his  mother's 
took  her  and  her  family  under  shelter  for  ten 
months  at  Mullingar  ;  another  descendant  of  the 
Archbishop's  housed  them  for  a  year  at  his  castle  near 
Carrickfergus."  This  is  all  confused.  The  ten  months 
were  spent  at  Elvington,  not  at  Mullingar ;  and  it  was 
a  relative  of  his  father,  not  of  his  mother,  that  so 
entetrained  them.  The  mother's  relative,  too.  lived 
in  Wicklow,  not  in  Mullingar,  and  kept  them  six 
months.  Finally,  to  make  the  shuffle  complete,  the 
collateral  descendant  of  the  Archbishop's  had  no 


xx  LIFE  OF  LJ.UKENCE  STESOfJS. 

castle  at  Carrickfergus,  though  the  regiment  had  been 
recently  quartered  there.  Laurence  remained  at 
Halifax  School,  not  "  till  he  was  eighteen  years  old," 
but  till  he  was  twenty  ;  and  he  remained  at  Cam- 
bridge not  five  years,  but  four.  Some  of  the  English, 
too,  is  very  curious  :  it  is  strange  to  hear  a  man  like 
Mr.  Thackeray  talking  of  anyone  getting  "  a  preben- 
dary of  York,"  meaning  a  prebend.  This,  too,  is 
odd  :  "  He  married  the  daughter  of  a  noted  sutler, 
and  marched  through  the  world  with  this  companion, 
following  the  regiment,  and  bringing  many  children  to 
poor  Roger  Sterne."  (!)  This  is  converting  the  father 
into  the  mother.  Again,  when  he  says  :  "  The  cap- 
tain was  an  irascible,  but  kind  and  simple  little  man, 
Sterne  says,  and  informs  us  tha,t  his  sire  was  run 
through  the  body  at  Gibraltar,"  it  is  made  to  appeal- 
that  it  was  the  sire  who  informs  us.  But  there  are 
more  serious  perversions  still.  There  is  a  free  and 
easy  letter  in  Latin,  in  which  Sterne  says  he  was 
"  sick  of  his  wife,"  and  which  Mr.  Thackeray,  to  make 
Sterne's  conduct  more  questionable,  says  was  written 
in  the  year  1767,  at  the  same  time  that  he  was  so  de- 
voted to  Mrs.  Draper.  The  letter  is  actually  undated  ; 
but  the  context,  where  Sterne  mentions  his  own  age 
fixes  the  date  at  about  1753  or  1754,  near  thirteen 
years  earlier.  Again,  he  says  that  this  Mrs.  Draper 
had  hardly  sailed  when  "the  coward r'  was  at  a 
coffee-house  writing  to  another  lady,  Lady  Percy,  and 
offering  his  affections  to  her.  This  is  a  precise  charge 
of  duplicity  and  disloyalty ;  but  there  is  no  date  to 
the  letter.  Again  Sterne  was  warning  Mrs.  Draper 
against  some  people  he  disliked  ;  but  Mr.  Thackeray, 
who  had  not  read  the  letters  carefully,  jumped  at  the 
conclusion  that  this  was  a  sneer  at  the  lady's  husband. 
The  context  proves  conclusively  that  "  the  gentility  " 
Sterne  was  warning  her  against  was  that  of  some 
people  who  were  odious  to  him,  and  whose  influence 
with  her  he  had  tried  to  undetennine  even  bv  a  false- 


LIFE  OF  LAURENCE  STERNE.  xxi 

hood.  The  class  of  English  writers  to  which  Sterne 
belongs  is  small — the  species  is  almost  the  genus — and 
it  is  unfortunate  that  such  an  attack  should  have  come 
from  a  writer  of  kindred  genius. 

No  memorial  of  any  kind  exists  to  his  memory. 
There  remains  indeed  the  marvellous  portrait  by  Sir 
Joshua,  of  which  the  well  known  engraving  gives  a 
very  imperfect  idea,  the  eyes  in  the  picture  being 
lighter  and  a  little  cruel,  and  the  mouth  more  good- 
humoured.  But  it  is  hoped  that  this  neglect  of  the 
memory  of  so  remarkable  a  writer  will  soon  be  repaired. 
The  Dean  of  York  has  given  permission  for  a  memo- 
rial to  be  placed  in  the  cathedral,  and  the  Archbishop 
of  York  has  promised  a  contribution.  Whatever  have 
been  the  failings  of  Bishop  Warburton's  "  irrevocable 
scoundrel,"  the  creator  of  my  uncle  Toby,  the  author 
of  the  pathetic  story  of  Le  Fever,  deserves  at  least  a 
tablet  and  inscription. 

I  am  aware  that  there  are  great  objections  to  what 
has  been  called  a  "  Bowlerized  edition  ;"  but  I  think 
it  will  be  found  that  Sterne  suffers  less  from  this  pro- 
cess than  would  be  supposed.  All  the  passages  by 
which  his  reputation  has  been  made  may  be  read  by 
"  boys  and  virgins ;"  the  coarse  portions  are  for  the 
most  part  digressions  ;  the  author  goes  out  of  his  way 
to  seek  those  nasty  piquancies.  But  all  the  while 
there  remains  the  interest  in  Mr.  Shandy's  household, 
and  his  visitors,  the  arguments  of  Yorick  and  uncle 
Toby  with  their  host,  the  latter's  campaigns  and  court- 
ship— in  short,  a  little  story.  I  may  lay  claim  to  some 
little  ingenuity  in  the  arrangement  of  these  scenes, 
especially  in  finding  a  conclusion  for  Sterne's  incom- 
plete work,  by  shifting  some  passages  from  the  middle 
of  the  book.  I  have  also  made  some  other  transposi- 
tions, which  become  almost  legitimate  when  it  is  con- 
sidered that  Sterne  himself  was  respectively  antici- 
pating or  shifting  the  events  of  his  little  narrative. 


xxii 


LIFE  OF  LAURENCE  STERNE. 


I  have  also  carefully  collated  the  text  -with  the  original 
editions,  published  in  Sterne's  life-time,  and  restored 
much  of  the  effective  though  irregulative  punctuation 
which  later  printers  have  removed. 

PERCY  FITZGERALD. 


CONTENTS. 


LIFE  OF  LAURENCE  STERNE          .  .  .  .  .  i 

CHAPTER  I. 

PARSON   YORICK I 

CHAPTER  II. 

MY  FATHER  AND  MOTHER 14 

CHAPTER  III. 

CAPTAIN   SHANDY  AND  HIS  HOBBY-HORSE   ...         26 

CHAPTER  IV. 

DOCTOR   SLOP 43 

CHAPTER  V. 

TRIM'S  SERMON -57 

CHAPTER  VI. 

I  COME  INTO  THE  WORLD  .  .  .  .  .  -67 

CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  CHRISTENING 79 


CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

P.*  HE 

MY  FATHER'S  GRAND  TRISTRA-PJEDIA  .        .        .        .105 
CHAPTER  IX. 

THE   STORY   OF   LE   FEVER 122 

CHAPTER  X. 

MY  UNCLE  TOBY'S  FORTIFICATIONS       .  .  .  -134 

CHAPTER  XI. 

THE   WIDO'VY  "SYADMAN  .  .  .  .  .  .ISO 

CHAPTER  XII. 

TTIE    SENTRY-BOX 184 


THE  STORY  OF  MY  UNCLE  TOBY. 


CHAPTER  I. 

PARSON     YORICK. 

the  fifth  day  of  November,  1718,  was  I, 
Tristram  Shandy,  Gentleman,  brought  forth 
into  this  scurvy  and  disastrous  world  of 

ours. — I  wish  I  had  been  born  in  the  moon, 

or  in  any  of  the  planets  (except  Jupiter  or  Saturn, 
because  I  never  could  bear  cold  weather,)  for  it 
could  not  well  have  fared  worse  with  me  in  any 
of  them  (though  I  will  not  answer  for  Venus)  than 
it  has  in  this  vile,  dirty  planet  of  ours,— which  o' 
my  conscience,  with  reverence  be  it  spoken,  I  take 
to  be  made  up  of  the  shreds  and  clippings  of  the 
rest ; — not  but  the  planet  is  well  enough,  provided  a 
man  could  be  born  in  it  to  a  great  title  or  to  a  great 
estate  ;  or  could  anyhow  contrive  to  be  called  up  to 
public  charges,  and  employments  of  dignity  or  power ; — 
but  that  is  not  my  case  ; — and  therefore  every  man  will 
speak  of  the  fair  as  his  own  market  has  gone  in  it ; — 
for  which  cause  I  affirm  it  over  again  to  be  one  of  the 
vilest  worlds  that  ever  was  made  ; — for  I  can  truly  say, 
that  from  the  first  hour  I  drew  my  breath  in  it,  to  this, 
that  I  can  now  scarce  draw  it  at  all,  for  an  asthma  I 
got  in  skating  against  the  wind  in  Flanders, — I  have 
been  the  continual  sport  of  what  the  world  calls  fortune ; 

1 


2  TILE  STORY  OF 

and  though  I  will  not  wrong  her  by  saying  she  has  ever 
made  me  feel  the  weight  of  any  great  or  signal  evil ; — 
yet  with  all  the  good  temper  in  the  world,  I  affirm  it  of 
her,  that  in  every  stage  of  my  life,  and  at  every  turn  and 
corner  where  she  could  get  fairly  at  me,  the  ungracious 
duchess  has  pelted  me  with  a  set  of  as  pitiful  misadven- 
tures and  cross  accidents  as  ever  small  hero  sustained. 
In  the  same  village  where  my  father  and  mother 
dwelt,  dwelt  also  a  thin,  upright,  motherly,  notable,  good 
old  body  of  a  midwife,  who,  with  the  help  of  a  little 
plain  good  sense,  and  some  years'  full  employment  in 
her  business,  in  which  she  had  all  along  trusted  little 
to  her  own  efforts,  and  a  great  deal  to  those  of 
Dame  Nature, — had  acquired,  in  her  way,  no  small 
degree  of  reputation  in  the  world  ; — by  which  word 
world,  need  I  in  this  place  inform  your  worship  that 
I  would  be  understood  to  mean  no  more  of  it  than  a 
small  circle  described  upon  the  circle  of  the  great 
world,  of  four  English  miles  diameter,  or  thereabouts, 
of  which  the  cottage  where  the  good  old  woman  lived 
is  supposed  to  be  the  centre. — She  had  been  left,  it 
seems,  a  widow  in  great  distress,  with  three  or  four 
small  children,  in  her  forty-seventh  year  ;  and  as  she 
was  at  that  time  a  person  of  decent  carriage, — grave 
deportment, — a  woman  moreover  of  few  words,  and 
withal  an  object  of  compassion,  whose  distress  and 
silence  under  it  called  out  the  louder  for  a  friendly 
lift :  the  wife  of  the  parson  of  the  parish  was  touched 
with  pity  ;  and  having  often  lamented  an  incon- 
venience, to  which  her  husband's  nock  had  for  many 
years  been  exposed,  inasmuch,  as  there  was  no  such 
thing  as  a  midwife,  of  any  kind  or  degree,  to  be  got 
at,  let  the  case  have  been  never  so  urgent,  within  less 
than  six  or  seven  long  miles'  riding  ;  which  said  seven 
long  miles  in  dark  nights  and  dismal  roads,  the 
country  thereabouts  being  nothing  but  a  deep  clay, 
was  almost  equal  to  fourteen  :  and  that  in  effect  was 
sometimes  next  to  having  no  midwife  at  all ;  it  came 


3lY  UNCLE  TOST.  3 

into  her  head,  that  it  would  be  doing  as  seasonable  a 
kindness  to  the  whole  parish,  as  to  the  poor  creature 
herself,  to  get  her  a  little  instructed  in  some  of  the 
plain  principles  of  the  business^  in  order  to  set  her  up 
in  it.  As  no  woman  thereabouts  was  better  qualified 
to  execute  the  plan  she  had  formed  than  herself,  the 
gentlewoman  very  "charitably  undertook  it ;  and  having 
great  influence  over  the  female  part  of  the  parish,  she 
found  no  difficulty  in  effecting  it  to  the  utmost  of  her 
wishes.  In  truth,  the  parson  joined  his  interest  with 
his  wife's  in  the  whole  affair ;  and  in  order  to  do 
things  as  they  should  be,  and  give  the  poor  soul  as 
good  a  title  by  law  to  practise,  as  his  wife  had  given 
by  institution, — he  cheerfully  paid  the  fees  for  the 
ordinary's  license  himself,  amounting  in  the  whole  to 
the  sum  of  eighteen  shillings  and  fourpence  ;  so  that 
betwixt  them  both  the  good  woman  was  fully  invested 
in  the  real  and  corporal  possession  of  her  office,  toge- 
ther with  all  its  rights  and  appurtenances  whatsoever. 

Whatever  degree  of  small  merit  the  act  of  benignity  in 
favour  of  the  midwife  might  justly  claim, — at  first  sight 
seems  not  very  material  to  this  history ;  certain  however 
it  was,  that  the  gentlewoman,  the  parson's  wife,  did  run 
away  at  that  time  with  the  whole  of  it ;  and  yet,  for 
my  life,  I  cannot  help  thinking  but  that  the  parson 
himself,  though  he  had  not  the  good  fortune  to  hit 
upon  the  design  first, — yet,  as  he  heartily  concurred 
in  it  the  moment  it  was  laid  before  him,  and  as  heartily 
parted  with  his  money  to  carry  it  into  execution,  had 
a  claim  to  some  share  of  it,  if  not  to  a  full  half  of 
whatever  honour  was  due  to  it. 

The  world  at  that  time  was  pleased  to  determine 
the  matter  otherwise. 

Be  it  known  then,  that  for  about  five  years  before 
the  date  of  the  midwife's  license,  the  parson  had  made 
himself  a  country  talk  by  a  breach  of  all  decorum  ; — 
and  that  was  in  never  appearing  better,  or  otherwise 
mounted,  than  upon  a  lean  sorry  jackass  of  a  horse, 

1—2 


4  TILE  STORY  OF 

value  about  one  pound  fifteen  shillings  ;  who,  to 
shorten  the  description  of  him,  was  full  brother  to 
Rosinante. 

In  the  several  sallies  about  his  parish,  and  in  the 
neighbouring  visits  to  the  gentry  who  lived  around 
him  you  will  easily  comprehend  that  the  parson,  so 
appointed,  would  both  hear  and  see  enough  to  keep 
his  philosophy  from  rusting.  To  speak  the  truth,  he 
never  could  enter  a  village,  but  he  caught  the  attention 
of  both  old  and  young. — Labour  stood  still  as  lie 
passed, — the  bucket  hung  suspended  in  the  middle 
of  the  well, — the  spinning-wheel  forgot  its  round, — 
even  chuck-farthing  and  shuffle-cap  themselves  stood 
gaping  till  he  had  got  out  of  sight ;  and  as  his  move- 
ment was  not  of  the  quickest,  he  had  generally  time 
enough  upon  his  hands  to  make  his  observations,— to 
hear  the  groans  of  the  serious,  and  the  laughter  of  the 
light-hearted  ; — all  which  he  bore  with  excellent  tran- 
quillity.— His  character  was, — he  loved  a  jest  in  his 
heart — and  as  he  saw  himself  in  the  true  point  of 
ridicule,  he  would  say,  he  could  not  be  angry  with 
others  for  seeing  him  in  a  light  in  which  he  so  strongly 
saw  himself  :  So  that  to  his  friends,  who  knew  his 
foible  was  not  the  love  of  money,  and  who  therefore 
made  the  less  scruple  in  bantering  the  extravagance 
of  his  humour, — instead  of  giving  the  true  cause,— he 
chose  rather  to  join  in  the  laugh  against  himself ;  and 
as  he  never  carried  one  single  ounce  of  flesh  upon  his 
own  bones,  being  altogether  as  spare  a  figure  as  his 
beast,— he  would  sometimes  insist  upon  it  that  the 
horse  was  as  good  as  the  rider  deserved. 

At  different  times  he  would  give  fifty  humorous  and 
opposite  reasons  for  riding  a  meek-spirited  jade  of  a 
broken-winded  horse,  preferable  to  one  of  mettle  ; — 
for  on  such  a  one  he  could  sit  mechanically,  and 
meditate  as  delightfully  de  vanitate  mundi  et  fugd 
sceculi,  as  with  the  advantage  of  a  death's-head  before 
him  ;— that,  in  all  other  exercitations,  he  could  spend 


3IY  UNCLE  TOST.  5 

liis  time,  as  he  rode  slowly  along, — to  as  much  account 
as  in  his  study  ; — that  he  could  draw  up  an  argument 
in  his  sermon, — or  a  hole  in  his  breeches,  as  steadily 
on  the  one  as  in  the  other  ; — that  brisk  trotting  and 
slow  argumentation,  like  wit  and  judgment,  were  two 
incompatible  movements. — But  that  upon  his  steed — 
he  could  unite  and  reconcile  everything, — he  could 
compose  his  sermon, — he  could  compose  his  cough, — 
and,  in  case  nature  gave  a  call  that  way,  he  could 
likewise  compose  himself  to  sleep. — In  short,  the 
parson  upon  such  encounters  would  assign  any  cause 
but  the  true  cause, — and  he  withheld  the  true  one, 
only  out  of  a  nicety  of  temper,  because  he  thought  it 
did  honour  to  him. 

But  the  truth  of  the  story  was  as  follows  :—  In  the 
first  years  of  this  gentleman's  life,  and  about  the  time 
when  a  superb  saddle  and  bridle  were  purchased  by 
him,  it  had  been  his  manner  or  vanity,  or  call  it  what 
you  will, — to  run  into  the  opposite  extreme. — In  the 
language  of  the  county  where  he  dwelt,  he  was  said 
to  have  loved  a  good  horse,  and  generally  had  one  of 
the  best  in  the  whole  parish  standing  in  his  stable 
always  ready  for  saddling ;  and  as  the  nearest  mid- 
wife, as  I  told  you,  did  not  live  nearer  to  the  village 
than  seven  miles,  and  in  a  vile  country, — it  so  fell  out 
that  the  poor  gentleman  was  scarce  a  whole  week 
together  without  some  piteous  application  for  his 
beast ;  and  as  he  was  not  an  unkind-hearted  man. 
and  every  case  was  more  pressing  and  more  distressful 
than  the  last, — as  much  as  he  loved  his  beast,  he  had 
never  a  heart  to  refuse  him ;  the  upshot  of  which  was 
generally  this,  that  his  horse  was  either  clapped,  or 
spavined,  or  greased ; — or  he  was  twitter-boned,  or 
broken-winded,  or  something,  in  short,  or  other  had 
befallen  him,  which  would  let  him  carry  no  flesh  ; — so 
that  he  had  every  nine  or  ten  months  a  bad  horse  to 
get  rid  of, — and  a  good  horse  to  purchase  in  his 
stead. 


6  THE  STORY  OF 

What  the  loss  in  such  a  balance  might  amount  to, 
communibus  annis,  I  would  leave  to  a  special  jury  of 
sufferers  in  the  same  traffic  to  determine  ; — but  let  it 
be  what  it  would,  the  honest  gentleman  bore  it  for 
many  years  without  a  murmur,  till  at  length,  by 
repeated  ill  accidents  of  the  kind,  he  found  it  neces- 
sary to  take  the  thing  under  consideration  ;  and  upon 
weighing  the  whole,  and  summing  it  up  in  his  mind, 
he  found  it  not  only  disproportioned  to  his  other 
expenses,  but  withal  so  heavy  an  article  in  itself,  as 
to  disable  him  from  any  other  act  of  generosity  in  his 
parish.  Besides  this  he  considered,  that  with  half  the 
sum  thus  galloped  away  he  could  do  ten  times  as 
much  good ;  and  what  still  weighed  more  with  him 
than  all  other  considerations  put  together  was  this, 
that  it  confined  all  his  charity  into  one  particular 
channel,  and  where,  as  he  fancied,  it  was  the  least 
wanted,  namely,  to  the  child-bearing  part  of  his  parish ; 
reserving  nothing  for  the  impotent, — nothing  for  the 
aged,— nothing  for  the  many  comfortless  scenes  he  was 
hourly  called  forth  to  visit,  where  poverty,  and  sick- 
ness, and  affliction  dwelt  together. 

For  these  reasons  he  resolved  to  discontinue  the 
expense  ;  and  there  appeared  but  two  possible  ways 
to  extricate  him  clearly  out  of  it ; — and  these  were, 
either  to  make  it  an  irrevocable  law  never  more  to 
lend  his  steed  upon  any  application  whatever, — or 
else  be  content  to  ride  the  last  poor  devil,  such  as  they 
had  made  him,  with  all  his  aches  and  infirmities,  to 
the  very  end  of  the  chapter. 

As  he  dreaded  his  own  constancy  in  the  first, — he 
veiy  cheerfully  betook  himself  to  the  second ;  and 
though  he  could  very  well  have  explained  it,  as  I  said, 
to  his  honour, — yet,  for  that  very  reason,  he  had  a 
spirit  above  it ;  choosing  rather  to  bear  the  contempt 
of  his  enemies,  and  the  laughter  of  his  friends,  than 
undergo  the  pain  of  telling  a  story,  which  might  seem 
a  panegyric  upon  himself, 


MY  UNCLE  TOBY.  7 

I  have  the  highest  idea  of  the  spiritual  and  refined 
sentiments  of  this  reverend  gentleman,  from  this 
single  stroke  in  his  character,  which  I  think  comes  up 
to  any  of  the  honest  refinements  of  the  peerless  knight 
of  La  Mancha,  whom,  by  the  bye,  with  all  his  follies, 
I  love  more,  and  would  actually  have  gone  further 
to  have  paid  a  visit  to,  than  the  greatest  hero  of 
antiquity. 

But  this  is  not  the  moral  of  my  story  :    The  thing 
I  had  in  view  was  to  show  the  temper  of  the  world  in 
the  whole  of  this  affair. — For  you  must  know,  that  so 
long  as  this  explanation  would  have  done  the  parson 
credit, — the  devil  a  soul  could  find  it  put, — I  suppose 
his  enemies  would  not,  and  that  his  friends  could  not. 
— But  no  sooner  did  he  bestir  himself  in  behalf  of  the 
midwife,  and  pay  the  expenses  of  the  ordinary's  licence 
to  set  her  up, — but  the  whole  secret  came  out ;  every 
horse  he  had  lost,  and  two  horses  more  than  ever  he 
had  lost,  with  all  the  circumstances  of  their  destruc- 
tion, were  known  and  distinctly  remembered. — The 
story  ran  like  wildfire — "  The  parson  had  a  returning 
'  fit  of  pride  which  had  just  seized  him  ;  and  he  was 
'  going  to  be  well  mounted  once  again  in  his  life  ; 
'  and  if  it  was  so,  'twas  plain  as  the  sun  at  noon-day, 
'  he  would  pocket  the  expense  of  the  licence,  ten 
'  times  told,  the  very  first  year  : — So  that  everybody 
'  was  left  to  judge  what  were  his  views  in  this  act  of 
'  charity/' 

What  were  his  views  in  this,  and  in  every  other 
action  of  his  life, — or  rather  what  were  the  opinions 
which  floated  in  the  brains  of  other  people  concerning 
it,  was  a  thought  which  too  much  floated  in  his  own, 
and  too  often  broke  in  upon  his  rest,  when  he  should 
have  been  found  asleep. 

About  ten  years  ago  this  gentleman  had  the  good 
fortune  to  be  made  entirely  easy  upon  that  score, — it 
being  just  so  long  since  he  left  his  parish, — and  the 
whole  world  at  the  same  time  behind  him, — and 


8  THE  STOET  OF 

stands  accountable  to  a  Judge  of  whom  he  will  have 
no  cause  to  complain. 

But  there  is  a  fatality  attends  the  actions  of  some 
men  :  Order  them  as  they  will,  they  pass  through  a 
certain  medium  which  so  twists  and  refracts  them 
from  their  true  directions — that,  with  all  the  titles  to 
praise  which  a  rectitude  of  heart  can  give,  the 
doers  of  them  are  nevertheless  forced  to  live  and 
die  without  it. 

Yorick  was  this  parson's  name,  who,  by  what  I  can 
remember  of  him,  and  by  all  the  accounts  I  could  ever 
get  of  him,  seemed  not  to  have  had  one  single  drop  of 
Danish  blood  in  his  whole  crasis ;  in  nine  hundred 
years,  it  might  possibly  have  all  run  out : — I  will  not 
philosophize  one  moment  with  you  about  it ;  for, 
happen  how  it  would,  the  fact  was  this  : — that  instead 
of  that  cold  phlegm  and  exact  regularity  of  sense  and 
humours  you  would  have  looked  for  in  one  so  extracted, 
— he  was,  on  the  contrary,  as  mercurial  and  sublimated 
a  composition,— as  heteroclite  a  creature  in  all  his  de- 
clensions ; — with  as  much  life  and  whim,  and  gaiete  de 
cceur  about  him,  as  the  kindliest  climate  could  have 
engendered  and  put  together.  With  all  this  sail,  poor 
Yorick  carried  not  one  ounce  of  ballast ;  he  was  utterly 
unpractised  in  the  world ;  and,  at  the  age  of  twenty- 
six,  knew  just  about  as  well  how  to  steer  his  course  in 
it,  as  a  romping,  unsuspicious  girl  of  thirteen  :  so 
that  upon  his  first  setting  out,  the  brisk  gale  of  his 
spirits,  as  you  will  imagine,  ran  him  foul  ten  times  in 
a  day  of  somebody's  tackling ;  and  as  the  grave  and 
more  slow-paced  were  oftenest  in  his  way, — you  may 
likewise  imagine,  'twas  with  such  he  had  generally  the 
ill  luck  to  get  the  most  intangled.  For  aught  I  know 
there  might  be  some  mixture  of  unlucky  wit  at  the 
bottom  of  snchfraccis :  for,  to  speak  the  truth,  Yorick 
had  an  invincible  dislike  and  opposition  in  his  nature 
to  gravity  ; — not  to  gravity  as  such  ; — for  where  gravity 
was  wanted,  he  would  be  the  most  grave  or  serious  of 


M Y  UNCLE  TOST.  9 

mortal  men  for  days  and  weeks  together  ; — but  he  was 
an  enemy  to  the  affectation  of  it,  and  declared  open 
war  against  it,  only  as  it  appeared  a  cloak  for  igno- 
rance, or  for  folly ;  and  then,  whenever  it  fell  in  his 
way,  however  sheltered  and  protected,  he  seldom  gave 
it  much  quarter. 

But,  in  plain  truth,  he  was  a  man  unhackneyed  and 
unpractised  in  the  world,  and  was  altogether  as  in- 
discreet and  foolish  on  every  other  subject  of  discourse 
where  policy  is  wont  to  impress  restraint.  Yorick  had 
no  impression  but  one,  and  that  was  what  arose  from 
the  nature  of  the  deed  spoken  of ;  which  impression 
he  would  usually  translate  into  plain  English  without 
any  periphrasis, — and  too  oft  without  much  distinc- 
tion of  either  personage,  time,  or  place ; — so  that 
when  mention  was  made  of  a  pitiful  or  an  ungenerous 
proceeding,  he  never  gave  himself  a  moment's  time 
to  reflect  who  was  the  hero  of  the  piece, — what  his 
station, — or  how  far  he  had  power  to  hurt  him  here- 
after ; — but  if  it  was  a  dirty  action, — without  more 
ado, — The  man  was  a  dirty  fellow, — and  so  on  : — and 
as  his  comments  had  usually  the  ill  fate  to  be 
terminated  either  in  a  Ion  mot,  or  to  be  enlivened 
throughout  with  some  drollery  or  humour  of  expres- 
sion, it  gave  wings  to  Yorick's  indiscretion.  In  a 
word,  though  he  never  sought,  yet  at  the  same  time, 
as  he  seldom  shunned  occasions  of  saying  what  came 
uppermost,  and  without  much  ceremony  ;  he  had  but 
too  many  temptations  in  life,  of  scattering  his  wit  and 
humour, — his  gibes  and  jests  about  him. — They  were 
not  lost  for  want  of  gathering.  To  speak  the  truth,  he 
had  wantonly  involved  himself  in  a  multitude  of 
small  book-debts  of  this  stamp,  which,  notwith- 
standing Eugenius's  frequent  advice,  he  too  much 
disregarded  ;  thinking  that  as  not  one  of  them  was 
contracted  through  any  malignancy ; — but,  on  the 
contrary,  from  an  honesty  of  mind,  and  a  mere 


io  THE  STOKY  OF 

jocundity  of  humour,  they  would  all  of  them  be 
crossed  out  in  course. 

Eugenius  would  never  admit  this  ;  and  would  often 
tell  him,  that  one  day  or  other  he  would  certainly  be 
reckoned  with  ;  and  he  would  often  add,  in  an  accent 
of  sorrowful  apprehension, — to  the  uttermost  mite. 
To  which  Yorick,  with  his  usual  carelessness  of  heart, 
would  as  often  answer  with  a  pshaw ! — and  if  the 
subject  was  started  in  the  fields, — with  a  hop,  skip, 
and  a  jump,  at  the  end  of  it ;  but  if  close  pent  up  in 
the  social  chimney  corner,  where  the  culprit  was 
barricadoed  in,  with  a  table  and  a  couple  of  arm-chairs, 
and  could  not  so  re<adily  fly  off  in  a  tangent,  Eugenius 
would  then  go  on  with  his  lecture  upon  discretion  in 
words  to  this  purpose,  though  somewhat  better  put 
together. 

Trust  me,  dear  Yorick,  this  unwary  pleasantly  of 
thine  will  sooner  or  later  bring  thee  into  scrapes  and 
difficulties,  which  no  after-wit  can  extricate  thee  out 
of. — In  these  sallies,  too  oft,  I  see,  it  happens,  that  a 
person  laughed  at,  considers  himself  in  the  light  of  a 
person  injured,  with  all  the  rights  of  such  a  situation 
belonging  to  him  ;  and  when  thou  viewest  him  in  that 
light  too,  and  reckons  up  his  friends,  his  family,  his 
kindred  and  allies, — and  musters  up  with  them  the 
many  recruits  which  will  list  under  him  from  a  sense 
of  common  danger  ;-^'tis  no  extravagant  arithmetic  to 
say,  that  for  every  ten  jokes,  thou  hast  got  an  hundred 
enemies  ;  and  tUl  thou  hast  gone  on,  and  raised  a 
swarm  of  wasps  about  thine  ears,  and  art  half  stung 
to  death  by  them,  thou  wilt  never  be  convinced  it 
is  so. 

Revenge  from  some  baneful  corner  shall  level  a  tale 
of  dishonour  at  thee,  which  no  innocence  of  heart  or 
integrity  of  conduct  shall  set  right. — The  fortunes  of 
thy  house  shall  totter, — thy  character,  which  led  the 
way  to  them,  shall  bleed  on  every  side  of  itj-^-thy  faith 
•  questioned,— thy  works  belied,  tby  wit  forgotten,— thy 


MY  UNCLE  TOST.  n 

learning  trampled  on.  To  wind  up  the  last  scene  of 
thy  tragedy,  Cruelty  and  Cowardice,  twin  ruffians, 
hired  and  set  on  by  Malice  in  the  dark,  shall  strike 
together  at  all  thy  infirmities  and  mistakes  : — The  best 
of  us,  my  dear  lad,  lie  open  there, — and  trust  me, — 
trust  me,  Yorick,  when  to  gratify  a  private  appetite,  it 
is  once  resolved  upon,  that  an  innocent  and  an  help- 
less creature  shall  be  sacrificed,  ;tis  an  easy  matter  to 
pick  up  sticks  enough  from  any  thicket  where  it  has 
strayed,  to  make  a  fire  to  offer  it  up  with. 

Yorick  scarce  ever  heard  this  sad  vaticination  of  his 
destiny  read  over  to  him,  but  with  a  tear  stealing  from 
his  eye,  and  a  promissory  look  attending  it,  that  he 
was  resolved,  for  the  time  to  come,  to  ride  his  tit  with 
more  sobriety. — But,  alas,  too  late !  a  grand  con- 
federacy was  formed  before  the  first  prediction  of  it. — 
The  whole  plan  of  the  attack,  just  as  Eugenius  had 
foreboded,  was  put  in  execution  all  at  once, — with  so 
little  mercy  on  the  side  of  the  allies, — and  so  little 
suspicion  in  Yorick,  of  what  was  carrying  on  against 
him, — that  when  he  thought,  good  easy  man  !  full 
surely  preferment  was  o'  ripening,  they  had  smote  his 
root,  and  then  he  fell,  as  many  a  worthy  man  had  fallen 
before  him. 

Yorick,  however,  fought  it  out  with  all  imaginable 
gallantry  for  some  time  ;  till  overpowered  by  numbers, 
and  worn  out  at  length  by  the  calamities  of  the  war, — 
but  more  so  by  the  ungenerous  manner  in  which  it 
was  carried  on, — he  threw  down  the  sword ;  and 
though  he  kept  up  his  spirits  in  appearance  to  the 
last,  he  died,  nevertheless,  as  was  generally  thought, 
quite  broken-hearted. 

A  few  hours  before  Yorick  breathed,  his  last,  Euge- 
nius stept  in  with  an  intent  to  take  his  last  sight  and 
last  farewell  of  him.  Upon  his  drawing  Yorick's 
curtain,  and  asking  how  he  felt  himself,  Yorick,  look- 
ing up  in  his  face,  took  hold  of  his  hand, — and,. after 
thanking  him  for  the  many  tokens  of  his  friendship  to 


12  THE  STOET  OF 

him,  for  which,  he  said,  if  it  was  their  fate  to  meet 
hereafter,—  he  would  thank  him  again  and  again, — he 
told  him,  he  wras  within  a  few  hours  of  giving  his 
enemies  the  slip  for  ever.  —  I  hope  not,  answered 
Eugenius,  with  tears  trickling  down  his  cheeks,  and 
with  the  tenderest  tone  that  ever  man  spoke, — I  hope 
not,  Yorick,  said  he.  Yorick  replied,  with  a  look  up, 
and  a  gentle  squeeze  of  Eugenius's  hand,  and  that  was 
all,—  but  it  cut  Eugenius  to  his  heart.—  Come,  come, 
Yorick,  quoth  Eugenius,  wiping  his  eyes,  and  sum- 
moning up  the  man  within  him, — my  dear  lad,  be 
comforted, — let  not  all  thy  spirits  and  fortitude  forsake 
thee  at  this  crisis  when  thou  most  wantest  them ; — who 
knows  what  resources  are  in  store,  and  what  the  powrer 
of  God  may  yet  do  for  thee  1 — Yorick  laid  his  hand 
upon  his  heart,  and  gently  shook  his  head  ; — for  my 
part,  continued  Eugenius,  crying  bitterly  as  he  uttered 
the  words, — I  declare  I  know  not,  Yorick,  how  to  part 
with  thee, — and  would  gladly  flatter  my  hopes,  added 
Eugenius,  cheering  up  his  voice,  that  there  is  still 
enough  left  of  thee  to  make  a  bishop, — and  that  I  may 
live  to  see  it.  I  beseech  thee,  Eugenius,  quoth  Yorick, 
taking  off  his  night-cap  ay  well  as  he  could  with  his 
left  hand, — his  right  being  still  grasped  close  in  that 
of  Eugenius, — I  beseech  thee  to  take  a  view  of  my 
head. — I  see  nothing  that  ails  it,  replied  Eugenius. 
Then,  alas !  my  friend,  said  Yorick,  let  me  tell  you, 
that  'tis  so  bruised  and  mis-shapened  with  the  blows 
which  ****  and  ****,  and  some  others,  have  so  un- 
handsomely given  me  in  the  dark,  that  I  might  say 
with  Sancho  Panca,  that  should  I  recover,  and 
"  Mitres  thereupon  he  suffered  to  rain  down  from 
"  heaven  as  thick  as  hail,  not  one  of  'em  would  fit  it." 
Yorick's  last  breath  was  hanging  upon  his  trembling 
lips  ready  to  depart  as  he  uttered  this ;— yet  still  it 
W7as  uttered  with  something  of  a  Cervantic  tone ; — 
and  as  he  spoke  it,  Eugenius  could  perceive  a  stream 
of  lambent  fire  lighted  up  for  a  moment  in  his  eyes ;— 


MT  UNCLE  TOST.  13 

faint  picture  of  those  flashes  of  his  spirit,  which  (as 
Shakspeare  said  of  his  ancestor)  were  wont  to  set  the 
table  in  a  roar  ! 

Eugenius  was  convinced  from  this,  that  the  heart 
of  his  friend  was  broke  ;  he  squeezed  his  hand, — and 
then  walked  softly  out  of  the  room,  weeping  as  he 
walked.  Yorick  followed  Eugenius  with  his  eyes  to 
the  door, — he  then  closed  them, — and  never  opened 
them  more. 

He  lies  buried  in  a  corner  of  his  churchyard,  in  the 

parish  of  ,  under  a  plain  marble  slab,  which 

his  friend  Eugenius,  by  leave  of  his  executors,  laid 
upon  his  grave,  with  no  more  than  these  three  words 
of  inscription,  serving  both  for  his  epitaph  and  elegy  : 


Alas,  poor  YORICK  ! 


Ten  times  in  a  day  has  Yorick's  ghost  the  consolation 
to  hear  his  monumental  inscription  read  over  with 
such  a  variety  of  plaintive  tones,  as  denote  a  general 
pity  and  esteem  for  him ;  a  foot-way  crossing  the 
churchyard  close  by  the  side  of  his  grave, — not  a 
passenger  goes  by  without  stopping  to  cast  a  look 
upon  it, — and  sighing  as  he  walks  on, 
Alas,  poor  YOKICK  1 


A  '''   f^  <S    \k~ 

*  •*      n 


CHAPTER  II. 

MY  FATHER  AND  MOTHEE. 

I!  PON  looking  into  my  mother's  marriage 
settlement,  in  order  to  satisfy  myself  and 
reader  in  a  point  necessary  to  be  cleared  up, 
before  we  could  proceed  any  further  in  this 
history ;— I  had  the  good-fortune  to  pop  upon  the  very 
thing  I  wanted,  which  is  so  much  more  fully  expressed 
in  the  deed  itself,  than  ever  I  can  pretend  to  do  it, 
that  it  would  be  barbarity  to  take  it  out  of  the  lawyer's 
hand  : — It  is  as  follows  : 

"3Ub  this  indenture  further  hritncsscth,  That  the 
"  said  Walter  Shandy,  merchant,  in  consideration  of 
"  the  said  intended  marriage  to  be  had,  and,  by  God's 
"  blessing,  to  be  well  and  truly  solemnized  and  con- 
"  summated  between  the  said  "Walter  Shandy  and 
"  Elizabeth  Mollineux  aforesaid,  and  divers  other  good 
"  and  valuable  causes  and  considerations  him  there- 
"  unto  specially  moving, — doth  grant,  covenant,  con- 
"  descend,  consent,  conclude,  bargain,  and  fully  agree 
"  to  and  with  John  Dixon  and  James  Turner,  Esqrs., 
"  the  above-named  trustees,  &c.,  &c. — 10  toit, — That 
"  in  case  it  should  hereafter  so  fall  out,  chance, 
"  happen,  or  otherwise  come  to  pass, — That  the  said 
'•  Walter  Shandy,  merchant,  shall  have  left  off  busi- 
"  ness  before  the  time  or  times  that  the  said  Elizabeth 
"  Mollineux  shall,  according  to  the  course  of  nature, 


3IT  UNCLE  TOST.  15 

"  or  otherwise,  have  left  off  bearing  and  bringing 
'  forth  children  ; — and  that,  in  consequence  of  the 
'  said  Walter  Shandy  having  so  left  off  business,  he 
'  shall,  in  despite,  and  against  the  free-will,  consent, 
'  and  good-liking  of  the  said  Elizabeth  Mollineux, — 
'  make  a  departure  from  the  city  of  London,  in  order 
'  to  retire  to,  and  dwell  upon,  his  estate  at  Shandy 

'  Hall,  in  the  county  of or  at  any  other  country 

"  seat,  castle,  hall,  mansion-house,  messuage,  orgrange- 
"  house,  now  purchased,  or  hereafter  to  be  purchased, 
"  or  upon  any  part  or  parcel  thereof : — That  then,  and 
"  as  often  as  the  said  Elizabeth  Mollineux  shall 
"  happen  to  be  enceinte  with  child  or  children  severally 
"  and  lawfully  begot,  he  the  said  Walter  Shandy  shall, 
"  at  his  own  proper  cost  and  charges,  and  out  of  his 
"  own  proper  monies,  upon  good  and  reasonable 
"  notice,  which  is  hereby  agreed  to  be  within  six 
"  weeks  of  her  the  said  Elizabeth  Mollineux's  full 
"  reckoning,  or  time  of  supposed  and  computed  deli- 
"  very, — pay,  or  cause  to  be  paid,  the  sum  of  one 
"  hundred  and  twenty  pounds  of  good  and  lawful 
"  money,  to  John  Dixon  and  James  Turner,  Esqrs. 
;  or  assigns,— upon  TRUST  and  confidence,  and  for  and 
'  unto  the  use  and  uses,  intent,  end,  and  purpose 
'  following  : — 'Chat  is  txr  svtg, — That  the  said  sum  of 
'  one  hundred  and  twenty  pounds  shall  be  paid  into 
'  the  hands  of  the  said  Elizabeth  Mollineux,  or  to  be 
"  otherwise  applied  by  them  the  said  Trustees,  for  the 
"  well  and  truly  hiring  of  one  coach,  with  able  and 
"  sufficient  horses,  to  carry  and  convey  the  body  of 
"  the  said  Elizabeth  Mollineux,  and  the  child  or 
"  children  which  she  shall  be  then  and  there  enceinte 
"  and  pregnant  with, — unto  the  city  of  London  ;  and 
"  for  the  further  paying  and  defraying  of  all  other 
"  incidental  costs,  charges,  and  expenses  whatsoever, 
"  — in  and  about,  and  for,  and  relating  to,  her  said 
"  intended  delivery  and  lying-in,  in  the  said  city  or 
"  suburbs  thereof.  And  that  the  said  Elizabeth 


i6  THE  STOUT  OF 

"  Mollineux  shall  and  may,  from  time  to  time,  and 
"  at  all  such  time  and  times  as  are  here  covenanted 
"  and  agreed  upon,— peaceably  and  quietly  hire  the 
"  said  coach  and  horses,  and  have  free  ingress,  egress, 
'  and  regress  throughout  her  journey,  in  and  from  the 
'  said  coach,  according  to  the  tenor,  true  intent,  and 
'  meaning  of  these  presents,  without  any  let,  suit, 
'  trouble,  disturbance,  molestation,  discharge,  Mn- 
'  drance,  forfeiture,  eviction,  vexation,  interruption, 
*  or  incumbrance  whatsoever. — And  that  it  shall 
moreover  be  lawful  to  and  for  the  said  Elizabeth 
"  Mollineux,  from  time  to  time,  and  as  oft  or  often 
"she  shall  well  and  truly  be  advanced  in  her  said 
"  pregnancy,  to  the  time  heretofore  stipulated  and 
"  agreed  upon, — to  live  and  reside  in  such  place  or 
"  places,  and  in  such  family  or  families,  and  with 
"  such  relations,  friends,  and  other  persons  within  the 
"  said  city  of  London,  as  she,  at  her  own  will  and 
"  pleasure,  notwithstanding  her  present  coverture, 
"  and  as  if  she  was  a  femme  sole  and  unmarried, — 
"  shall  think  fit. — ^-nb  this  indenture  further  initnr s- 
"  srth,  That  for  the  more  effectually  carrying  of  the 
"  said  covenant  into  execution,  the  said  Walter 
"  Shandy,  merchant,  doth  hereby  grant,  bargain,  sell, 
"  release,  and  confirm  unto  the  said  John  Dixon  and 
"  James  Turner,  Esqrs.,  their  heirs,  executors,  and 
"  assigns,  in  their  actual  possession,  now  being,  by 
"  virtue  of  an  indenture  of  bargain  and  sale  for  a 
"  year  to  them  the  said  John  Dixon  and  James 
"  Turner,  Esqrs.,  by  him  the  said  Walter  Shandy, 
"  merchant,  thereof  made ;  which  said  bargain  and 
"  sale  for  a  year,  bears  date  the  day  next  before 
"  the  date  of  these  presents,  and  by  force  and 
"  virtue  of  the  statute  for  transferring  of  uses  into 
"  possession, — Jill  that  the  manor  and  lordships  of 

"  Shandy  in  the  county  of with  all  the  rights, 

"  members,  and  appurtenances  thereof  ;  and  all  and 
"  every  the    messuages,    houses,    buildings,    barns, 


MY  UNCLE  TOST.  17 

"  stables,  orchards,  gardens,  tofts,  crofts,  garths, 
'  cottages,  lands,  meadows,  feedings,  pastures, 
"  marshes,  commons,  woods,  underwoods,  drains, 
fisheries,  waters  and  water-courses  ; — together  witn 
all  rents,  reversions,  services,  annuities,  fee  farms, 
knight's  fees,  views  of  frank-pledge,  escheats, 
"  reliefs,  mines,  quarries,  goods  and  chattels  of  felons, 
"  and  fugitives,  felons  of  themselves,  and  put  in 
"  exigent,  deodands,  free  warrens,  and  all  other 
"  royalties  and  seignories,  rights  and  jurisdictions, 
'  privileges  and  hereditaments  whatsoever. — ^titb 
'  vtisjj,  the  advowson,  donation,  presentation  and  free 
'  disposition  of  the  rectory  or  parsonage  of  Shandy 
'  aforesaid,  and  all  and  every  the  tenths,  tithes,  glebe- 
'  lands  " — In  three  words, — "  My  mother  was  to  lay 
'  in,  (if  she  chose  it)  in  London.' 

But  in  order  to  put  a  stop  to  the  practice  of  any 
unfair  play  on  the  part  of  my  mother,  for  which  a 
marriage  article  of  this  nature  too  manifestly  opened  a 
door,  and  which  indeed  had  never  been  thought  of  at 
all,  but  for  my  uncle  Toby  Shandy  ; — a  clause  was 
added  in  security  of  my  father,  which  was  this : — 
"  That  in  case  my  mother  hereafter  should,  at  any 
"  time,  put  my  father  to  the  trouble  and  expense  of  a 
"  London  journey  upon  false  cries  and  tokens  ; — that 
"  for  every  such  instance  she  should  forfeit  all  the 
"  rights  and  title  which  the  covenant  gave  her  to 
"  the  next  turn  ; — but  to  no  more, — and  so  on,  toties 
"  quoties,  in  as  effectual  a  manner,  as  if  such  a  cove- 
"  nant  betwixt  them  had  not  been  made." — This,  by 
the  way,  was  no  more  than  what  was  reasonable  ; — 
and  yet,  as  reasonable  as  it  was,  I  have  ever  thought 
it  hard  that  the  whole  weight  of  the  article  should 
have  fallen  entirely,  as  it  did,  upon  myself. 

But  I  was  begot  and  born  to  misfortunes  ; — for  my 
poor  mother,  whether  it  was  simply  the  mere  swell 
of  imagination  and  fancy  in  her ;  or  how  far  a  strong 
wish  and  desire  to  have  it  so,  might  mislead  her  judg- 

2 


i8  THE  STOET  OF 

rnent ; — in  short,  whether  she  was  deceived  or  deceiv- 
ing in  this  matter,  it  no  way  becomes  me  to  decide. 
The  fact  was  this  :  That,  in  the  latter  end  of  Sep- 
tember, 1717,  which  was  the  year  before  I  was  born, 
my  mother  having  carried  my  father  up  to  town  much 
against  the  grain, — he  peremptorily  insisted  upon  the 
clause  ; — so  that  I  was  doomed  by  marriage  articles, 
to  have  my  nose  squeezed  as  flat  to  my  face  as  if  the 
destinies  had  actually  spun  me  without  one. 

My  father,  as  anybody  may  naturally  imagine, 
came  down  with  my  mother  into  the  country,  in  but 
a  pettish  kind  of  humour.  The  first  twenty  or  five- 
and- twenty  miles  he  did  nothing  in  the  world  but  fret 
and  tease  himself,  and  indeed  my  mother  too,  about 
the  cursed  expense,  which  he  said  might  every  shilling 
of  it  have  been  saved  ; — then  what  vexed  him  more 
than  everything  else  was  the  provoking  time  of  the 
year, — which,  as  1  told  you,  was  towards  the  end  of 
September,  when  his  wall-fruit  and  greengages  espe- 
cially, in  which  he  was  very  curious,  were  just  ready 
for  pulling  : — "  Had  he  been  whistled  up  to  London, 
"  upon  a  tomfool's  errand,  in  any  other  month  of  the 
"  whole  year,  he  should  not  have  said  three  words 
"  about  it." 

For  the  next  two  whole  stages,  no  subject  would  go 
down,  but  the  heavy  blow  he  had  sustained  from  the 
loss  of  a  son,  whom  it  seems  he  had  fully  reckoned 
upon  in  his  mind,  and  registered  down  in  his  pocket- 
book,  as  a  second  staff  for  his  old  age,  in  case  Bobby 
should  fail  him.  "  The  disappointment  of  this,  he 
"  said,  was  ten  times  more  to  a  wise  man  than  all  the 
"  money  which  the  journey,  &c.  had  cost  him,  put 
"  togetner, — rot  the  hundred  and  twenty  pounds, — he 
"  did  not  mind  it  a  rush." 

From  Stilton,  all  the  way  to  Grantham,  nothing  in 
the  whole  affair  provoked  him  so  much  as  the  condo- 
lences of  his  friends,  and  the  foolish  figure  they  should 
both  make  at  church  the  first  Sunday  ; — of  which  in 


MY  UNCLE  TOST.  19 

the  satirical  vehemence  of  his  wit,  now  sharpened  a 
little  by  vexation,  he  would  give  so  many  humorous 
and  provoking  descriptions, — and  place  his  rib  and 
self  in  so  many  tormenting  lights  and  attitudes  in  the 
face  of  the  whole  congregation ; — that  my  mother 
declared,  these  two  stages  were  so  truly  tragi-comical, 
that  she  did  nothing  but  laugh  and  cry  in  a  breath, 
from  one  end  to  the  other  of  them  all  the  way. 

From  Grantham,  till  they  had  crossed  the  Trent, 
my  father  was  out  of  all  kinds  of  patience  at  the  vile 
trick  and  imposition  which  he  fancied  my  mother  had 
put  upon  him  in  this  affair — "  Certainly,"  he  would 
say  to  himself  over  and  over  again,  "the  woman 

"  could  not  be  deceived  herself ;" In  short,  ho 

had  so  many  little  subjects  of  disquietude  spring- 
ing out  of  this  one  affair,  all  fretting  successively  in 
his  mind  as  they  rose  upon  it,  that  my  mother,  what- 
ever was  her  journey  up,  had  but  an  uneasy  journey 
of  it  down. — In  a  word,  as  she  complained  to  my  uncle 
Toby,  he  would  have  tired  out  the  patience  of  any 
flesh  alive. 

Though  my  father  travelled  homewards,  in  none  of 
the  best  of  moods, — pshawing  and  pishing  all  the  way 
down, — yet  he  had  the  complaisance  to  keep  the  worst 
part  of  the  story  still  to  himself ; — which  was  the  reso- 
lution he  had  taken  of  doing  himself  the  justice, 
which  my  uncle  Toby's  clause  in  the  marriage  settle- 
ment empowered  him  ;  nor  was  it  till  thirteen  months 
after,  that  she  had  the  least  intimation  of  his  design  ; 
— when  my  father,  happening  to  be  a  little  chagrined 
and  out  of  temper, — took  occasion  as  they  lay  chatting 

Savely  in  bed,  talking  over  what  was  to  come, — to  let 
:r  know  that  she  must  accommodate  herself  as  well 
as  she  could  to  the  bargain  made  between  them  in 
their  marriage  deeds  ;  which  was  to  lie-in  of  her 
next  child  in  the  country  to  balance  the  last  year's 
journey. 

My  father  was  a  gentleman  of  many  virtues,— but 

2—2 


20  THE  STORY  OF 

he  had  a  strong  spice  of  that  in  his  temper  which 
might,  or  might  not,  add  to  the  number. — 'Tis  known 
by  the  name  of  perseverance  in  a  good  cause,  and  of 
obstinacy  in  a  bad  one :  of  this  my  mother  had  so 
much  knowledge,  that  she  knew  'twas  to  no  purpose 
to  make  any  remonstrance,— so  she  e'en  resolved  to 
sit  clown  quietly,  and  make  the  most  of  it. 

As  the  point  was  agreed,  or  rather  determined,  that 
my  mother  should  lie-in  of  me  in  the  country,  she 
took  her  measures  accordingly ;  for  which  purpose  she 
began  to  cast  her  eyes  upon  the  midwife,  whom  you 
have  so  often  heard  me  mention ;  and  before  the  week 
was  well  got  round,  as  the  famous  Dr.  Manninghani 
was  not  to  be  had,  she  had  come  to  a  final  deter- 
mination in  her  mind, — notwithstanding  there  was  a 
scientific  operator  within  so  near  a  call  as  eight  miles 
of  us, — absolutely  determined  to  trust  her  life,  and 
mine  with  it,  into  no  soul's  hands,  but  this  old 
woman's  only.  Now  this  I  like,  when  we  cannot  get 
at  the  very  thing  we  wish,  never  to  take  up  with  the 
next  best  in  degree  to  it, — no ;  that's  pitiful  beyond 
description.  Only  what  lessened  the  honour  of  it 
somewhat,  in  my  mother's  case,  was,  that  she  could 
not  heroine  it  into  so  violent  and  hazardous  an  ex- 
treme, as  one  in  her  situation  might  have  wished, 
because  the  old  midwife  had  really  some  little  claim 
to  be  depended  upon, — as  much,  at  least,  as  success 
could  give  her ;  having,  in  the  course  of  her  practice 
of  near  twenty  years  in  the  parish,  brought  every 
mother's  son  of  them  into  the  world  without  any  one 
slip  or  accident  which  could  fairly  be  laid  to  her 
account. 

These  facts,  tho'  they  had  their  weight,  yet  did 
not  altogether  satisfy  some  few  scruples  and  uneasi- 
nesses which  hung  on  my  father's  spirits  in  relation 
to  his  choice. — To  say  nothing  of  the  natural  work- 
ings of  humanity  and  justice, — or  of  the  yearnings  of 
parental  and  connubial  love,  all  which  prompted  him 


MY  UNCLE  TOBY.  21 

to  leave  as  little  to  hazard  as  possible  in  a  case  of 
this  kind  ; — he  felt  himself  concerned  in  a  particular 
manner,  that  all  should  go  right  in  the  present  case  ; — 
from  the  accumulated  sorrow  he  lay  open  to,  should 
any  evil  betide  his  wife  and  child  in  lying-in  at 
Shandy  Hall. — He  knew  the  world  judged  by  events, 
and  would  add  to  his  afflictions  in  such  a  misfortune, 
by  loading  him  with  the  whole  blame  of  it. — "Alas 
"  o'day !  had  Mrs.  Shandy,  poor  gentlewoman  !  had 
"  but  her  wish  in  going  up  to  town  just  to  lie-in  and 
"  come  down  again  ; — which  they  say,  she  begged  and 
"  prayed  for  upon  her  bare  knees, — and  which,  in  my 
"  opinion,  considering  the  fortune  which  Mr.  Shandy 
"  got  with  her,— was  no  such  mighty  matter  to  have 
"  complied  with,  the  lady  and  her  babe  might  both  of 
"  'em  have  been  alive  at  this  hour." 

This  exclamation,  my  father  knew,  was  unanswer- 
able ; — and  yet  it  was  not  merely  to  shelter  himself, — 
nor  was  it  altogether  for  the  care  of  his  offspring  and 
wife  that  he  seemed  so  extremely  anxious  about  this 
point ;  my  father  had  extensive  views  of  things, — and 
stood,  moreover,  as  he  thought,  deeply  concerned  in 
it  for  the  public  good,  from  the  dread  he  entertained 
of  the  bad  uses  an  ill-fated  instance  might  be  put  to. 

He  was  very  sensible  that  all  political  writers  upon 
the  subject  had  unanimously  agreed  and  lamented, 
from  the  beginning  of  Queen  Elizabeth's  reign  down 
to  his  own  time,  that  the  current  of  men  and  money 
towards  the  metropolis,  upon  one  frivolous  errand  or 
another, — set  in  so  strong, — as  to  become  dangerous 
to  our  civil  rights  ; — though,  by  the  bye,— a  current 
was  not  the  image  he  took  most  delight  in,— a  dis- 
temper was  here  his  favourite  metaphor,  and  he  would 
run  it  down  into  a  perfect  allegory,  by  maintaining  it 
was  identically  the  same  in  the  body  national  as  in 
the  body  natural,  where  blood  and  spirits  were  driven 
up  into  the  head  faster  than  they  could  find  their  ways 
down  ; — a  stoppage  of  circulation  must  ensue,  which 


22  THE  STORY  OF 

was  death  in  both  cases.  There  was  little  danger,  he 
would  say,  of  losing  our  liberties  by  French  politics 
and  French  invasions : — but  he  verily  feared  that  in 
some  violent  push  we  should  go  off  all  at  once  in  a 
state  of  apoplexy ;— and  then  he  would  say,  "  TJie 
"  Lord  have  mercy  upon  us  all  f" 

"Whv  are  there  so  few  palaces  and  gentlemen's 
"  seats,  he  would  ask,  with  some  emotion,  as  he 
walked  across  the  room,  "  throughout  so  many  deli- 
'  cious  provinces  in  France  ]  Whence  is  it  that  the 
'  few  remaining  chateaus  amongst  them  are  so  dis- 
'  mantled, — so  unfurnished,  and  in  so  ruinous  and 
'  desolate  a  condition  ] — Because,  sir,"  (he  would  say) 
;  in  that  kingdom  no  man  has  any  country  interest  to 
'  support ; — the  little  interest  of  any  kind  which  any 
'  man  has  anywhere  in  it  is  concentrated  in  the  court, 
'  and  the  looks  of  the  Grand  Monarch  :  by  the  sun- 
'  shine  of  whose  countenance,  or  the  clouds  which 
"  pass  across  it,  every  Frenchman  lives  or  dies." 

For  all  these  reasons,  private  and  public,  put 
together, — my  father  was  for  having  the  man  midwife 
by  all  means, — my  mother  by  no  means.  My  father 
begged  and  entreated  she  would  for  once  recede  from 
her  prerogative  in  this  matter,  and  suffer  him  to 
choose  for  her  • — my  mother,  on  the  contrary,  insisted 
upon  her  privilege  in  this  matter  to  choose  for  herself, 
— and  have  no  mortal's  help  but  the  old  woman's. 
What  could  my  father  do  1  He  was  almost  at  his  wit's 
end ; — talked  it  over  with  her  in  all  moods ; — placed 
his  arguments  in  all  lights ; — argued  the  matter  with 
her  like  a  Christian — like  a  heathen, — like  a  hus- 
band,— like  a  father, — like  a  patriot, — like  a  man  ; — 
My  mother  answered  everything  only  like  a  woman  ; 
which  was  a  little  hard  upon  her  ; — for  as  she  could 
not  assume  and  fight  it  out  behind  such  a  variety  of 
characters, — 'twas  no  fair  match  ; — 'twas  seven  to 
one. — What  could  my  mother  do1? — She  had  the 
advantage  (otherwise  she  had  been  certainly  over- 


MY  UNCLE  TOST.  23 

powered)  of  a  small  reinforcement  of  chagrin  personal 
at  the  bottom,  which  bore  her  up,  and  enabled  her  to 
dispute  the  affair  with  my  father  with  so  equal  an 
advantage, — that  both  sides  sung  Te  Deum.  In  a 
word,  my  mother  was  to  have  the  old  woman, — and 
the  operator  was  to  have  licence  to  drink  a  bottle  of 
wine  with  my  father  and  my  uncle  Toby  Shandy  in 
the  back  parlour, — for  which  he  was  to  be  paid  five 
guineas. 

I  would  sooner  undertake  to  explain  the  hardest 
problem  in  geometry  than  pretend  to  account  for  it, 
that  a  gentleman  of  my  father's  great  good  sense 
could  be  capable  of  entertaining  a  notion  in  his  head 
so  out  of  the  common  track  ; — and  that  was  in  respect 
to  the  choice  and  imposition  of  Christian  names,  on 
which  he  thought  a  great  deal  more  depended  than 
what  superficial  minds  were  capable  of  conceiving. 

The  hero  of  Cervantes  argued  not  the  point  with 
more  seriousness, — nor  had  he  more  faith, — than  my 
father  had  on  those  of  Trismegistus  or  Archimedes, 
on  the  one  hand, — or  of  Nyky  and  Simkin  on  the 
other.  How  many  Caesars  and  Pompeys,  he  would 
say,  by  mere  inspiration  of  the  names,  have  been 
rendered  worthy  of  them  ]  And  how  many,  he  would 
add,  are  there,  who  might  have  done  exceeding  well 
in  the  world,  had  not  their  characters  and  spirits  been 
totally  depressed  and  Nicodemus'd  into  nothing  1 

I  see  plainly,  sir,  by  your  looks  (or  as  the  case  hap- 
pened), my  father  would  say, — that  you  do  not  heartily 
subscribe  to  this  opinion  of  mine, — Your  son  ! — your 
dear  son, — from  whose  sweet  and  open  temper  you  have 
so  much  to  expect. — Your  Billy,  sir  ! — would  you,  for 
the  world,  have  called  him  Judas  ? — Would  you,  my 
dear  sir,  he  would  say,  laying  his  hand  upon  your 
breast  with  the  genteelest  address, — and  in  that  soft 
and  irresistible  piano  of  voice,  which  the  nature  of 
the  argumentum  ad  hominem  absolutely  requires, — 
Would  you,  sir,  if  a  Jew  of  a  godfather  had  proposed 
the  name  for  your  child,  and  offered  you  his  purse 


24  THE  STORY  OF 

along  with  it,  would  you  have  consented  to  such  a 
desecration  of  him*? — O  my  God!  he  would  say, 
looking  up,  if  I  know  your  temper  right,  sir, — you  are 
incapable  of  it ; — you  would  have  trampled  upon  the 
offer  ; — you  would  have  thrown  the  temptation  at  the 
tempter's  head  with  abhorrence. — In  a  wrord,  I  repeat 
it  over  again  ;— he  was  serious  • — and,  in  consequence 
of  it,  he  would  lose  all  kind  of  patience  whenever  he 
saw  people,  especially  of  condition,  who  should  have 
known  better, — as  careless  and  as  indifferent  about 
the  name  they  imposed  upon  their  child, — or  more  so, 
than  in  the  choice  of  Ponto  or  Cupid  for  their  puppy 
dog.  m 

This,  he  would  say,  looked  ill ; — and  had,  moreover, 
this  particular  aggravation  in  it,  viz.  That  when  once 
a  vile  name  was  wrongfully  or  injudiciously  given, 
'twas  not  like  the  case  of  a  man's  character,  which, 
when  wronged,  might  hereafter  be  cleared ; — and, 
possibly,  some  time  or  other,  if  not  in  the  man's  life, 
at  least  after  his  death, — be,  somehow  or  other,  set  to 
rights  with  the  world  :  But  the  injury  of  this,  he 
would  say,  could  never  be  undone  ; — nay,  he  doubted 
even  whether  an  act  of  parliament  could  reach  it. 

It  was  observable,  that  though  my  father,  in  conse- 
quence of  this  opinion,  had,  as  I  have  told  you,  the 
strongest  likings  and  dislikings  towards  certain  names ; 
— that  there  were  still  numbers  of  names  which  hung 
so  equally  in  the  balance  before  him,  that  they  were 
absolutely  indifferent  to  him.  Jack,  Dick,  and  Tom, 
were  of  this  class  :  These  my  father  called  neutral 
names  : — affirming  of  them,  without  a  satire,  that  there 
had  been  as  many  knaves  and  fools,  at  least,  as  wise 
and  good  men,  since  the  world  began,  who  had  indif- 
ferently borne  them  ; — so  that,  like  equal  forces  acting 
against  each  other  in  contrary  directions,  he  thought 
they  mutually  destroyed  each  other's  effects ;  for  which 
reason,  he  would  often  declare,  he  would  not  give  a 
cherry-stone  to  choose  amongst  them.  Bob,  which  was 


MY  UNCLE  TOST.  25 

my  brother's  name,  was  another  of  these  neutral  kinds 
of  Christian  names,  which  operated  very  little  either 
way ;  and  as  my  father  happened  to  be  at  Epsom, 
when  it  was  given  him, — he  would  oft-times  wank 
heaven  it  was  no  worse.  Andrew  was  something 
like  a  negative  quantity  in  algebra  with  him  ; — 'twas 
worse,  he  said,  than  nothing — Wi.Uiam  stood  pretty 
high  : — Numps  again  was  low  with  him  : — and  Nick, 
he  said,  was  the  devil. 

But,  of  all  the  names  in  the  universe,  he  had  the 
most  unconquerable  aversion  for  Tristram  ; — he  had 
the  lowest  and  most  contemptible  opinion  of  it  of 
anything  in  the  world, — thinking  it  could  possibly 
produce  nothing  in  rerum  natura,  but  what  was 
extremely  mean  and  pitiful :  so  that  in  the  midst  of 
a  dispute  on  the  subject,  in  which,  by  the  bye,  he  was 
frequently  involved, — he  would  sometimes  break  off 
in  a  sudden  and  spirited  Epiphonema,  or  rather  Ero- 
tesis,  raised  a  third,  and  sometimes  a  full  fifth,  above 
the  key  of  the  discourse, — and  demand  it  categorically 
of  his  antagonist,  whether  he  would  take  upon  him  to 
say,  he  had  ever  remembered, — whether  he  had  ever 
read, — or  even  whether  he  had  ever  heard  tell  of  a 
man,  called  Tristram,  performing  anything  great  or 
worth  recording  ! — No, — he  would  say, — Tristram  ! — 
The  thing  is  impossible. 


CHAPTER  III. 

CAPTAIN  SHANDY  AND  HIS  HOBBY-HORSE. 

WONDER  what's  all  that  noise,  and  running 
backwards  and  forwards  for,  above  stairs, 
j  quoth  iny  father,  addressing  himself,  after 
I  an  hour  and  a  half's  silence,  to  my  uncle 
Toby, — who,  you  must  know,  was  sitting  on  the  oppo- 
site side  of  the  fire,  smoking  his  social  pipe  all  the 
time,  in  mute  contemplation  of  a  new  pair  of  black 
plush-breeches  which  he  had  got  on  : — What  can  they 
be  doing,  brother  1 — quoth  my  father, — we  can  scarce 
hear  ourselves  talk. 

I  think,  replied  my  uncle  Toby,  taking  his  pipe  from 
his  mouth,  and  striking  the  head  of  it  two  or  three 
times  upon  the  nail  of  his  left  thumb,  as  he  began  his 
sentence, — "  I  think,"  says  he  : — but  to  enter  rightly 
into  my  uncle  Toby's  sentiments  upon  this  matter, 
you  must  be  made  to  enter  first  a  little  into  his  cha- 
racter, the  outlines  of  which  I  shall  just  give  you,  and 
then  the  dialogue  between  him  and  my  father  will  go 
on  as  well  again. 

His  humour  was  of  that  particular  species,  which 
does  honour  to  our  atmosphere  ;  and  I  should  have 
made  no  scruple  of  ranking  him  amongst  one  of  the 
firstrate  productions  of  it,  had  not  there  appeared 
too  many  strong  lines  in  it  of  a  family  likeness,  which 
showed  that  he  derived  the  singularity  of  his  temper 
more  from  blood,  than  either  wind  or  water,  or  any 


MY  UNCLE  TOST.  27 

modifications  or  combinations  of  them  whatever  :  and 
I  have,  therefore,  ofttimes  wondered,  that  my  father, 
though  I  believe  he  had  his  reasons  for  it,  upon  his 
observing  some  tokens  of  eccentricity  in  my  course 
when  I  was  a  boy, — should  never  once  endeavour  to 
account  for  them  in  this  way ;  for  all  the  Shandy 
Family  were  of  an  original  character  throughout : — I 
mean  the  males, — the  females  had  no  character  at  all, 
— except,  indeed,  my  great  aunt,  Dinah,  who,  about 
sixty  years  ago,  was  married  by  the  coachman  ;  for 
which  my  father,  according  to  his  hypothesis  of 
Christian  names,  would  often  say,  she  might  thank 
her  godfathers  and  godmothers.  It  will  seem  very 
strange  that  an  event  of  this  kind,  so  many  years 
after  it  had  happened,  should  be  reserved  for  the 
interruption  of  the  peace  and  unity,  which  otherwise 
so  cordially  subsisted,  between  my  father  and  my 
uncle  Toby.  One  would  have  thought,  that  the  whole 
force  of  the  misfortune  should  have  spent  and  wasted 
itself  in  the  family  at  first, — as  is  generally  the  case  : — 
but  nothing  ever  wrought  with  our  family  after  the 
ordinary  way.  My  uncle  Toby  Shandy,  was  a  gentle- 
man, who,  with  the  virtues  that  usually  constitute  the 
character  of  a  man  of  honour  and  rectitude, — pos- 
sessed one  in  a  very  eminent  degree,  which  is  seldom 
or  never  put  into  the  catalogue  ;  and  that  was  a  most 
extreme  and  unparalleled  modesty  of  nature.  Which- 
ever way  my  uncle  Toby  came  by  it,  'twas  nevertheless 
modesty  in  the  truest  sense  of  it ;  and  that  is,  not  in 
regard  to  words,  for  he  was  so  unhappy  as  to  have  very 
little  choice  in  them, — but  to  things  ; — and  this  kind 
of  modesty  so  possessed  him,  and  it  arose  to  such  a 
height  in  him,  as  almost  to  equal,  if  such  a  thing  could 
be,  even  the  modesty  of  a  woman  ;  which  happening 
to  be  somewhat  subtilized  and  rarified  by  the  constant 
heat  of  a  little  family  pride, — they  both  so  wrought 
together  within  him,  that  he  could  never  bear  to  hear 
the  affair  of  my  aunt  Dinah  touched  upon,  but  with 


23  THE  STOEY  OF 

the  greatest  emotion. — The  least  hint  of  it  was  enough 
to  make  the  blood  fly  into  his  face ;  but  when  my 
father  enlarged  upon  the  story  in  mixed  companies, 
which  the  illustration  of  his  hypothesis  frequently 
obliged  him  to  do, — the  unfortunate  blight  of  one  of 
the  fairest  branches  of  the  family,  would  set  my  uncle 
Toby's  honour  and  modesty  o'  bleeding  ;  and  he  would 
often  take  my  father  aside,  in  the  greatest  concern 
imaginable,  to  expostulate  and  tell  him,  he  would  give 
him  anything  in  the  world,  only  to  let  the  story  rest. 

My  father,  I  believe,  had  the  truest  love  and  tender- 
ness for  my  uncle  Toby,  that  ever  one  brother  bore 
towards  another,  and  would  have  done  anything  in 
nature,  which  one  brother  in  reason  could  have  desired 
of  another,  to  have  made  my  uncle  Toby's  heart  easy  in 
this,  or  any  other  point.  But  this  lay  out  of  his  power. 

My  father,  as  I  told  you,  was  a  philosopher  in  grain, 
— speculative, — systematical ;  and  my  aunt  Dinah's 
affair  was  a  matter  of  as  much  consequence  to  him,  as 
the  retrogradation  of  the  planets  to  Copernicus. 

This  contrariety  of  humours  betwixt  my  father  and 
my  uncle,  was  the  source  of  many  a  fraternal  squabble. 
The  one  could  not  bear  to  hear  the  tale  of  family 
disgrace  recorded — and  the  other  would  scarce  ever 
let  a  day  pass  to  an  end  without  some  hint  at  it. 

For  God's  sake,  my  uncle  Toby  would  cry, — and  for 
my  sake  and  for  all  our  sakes,  my  dear  brother 
Shandy,— do  let  this  story  of  our  aunt's  and  her  ashes 
sleep  in  peace  ;  how  can  you, — how  can  you  have  so 
little  feeling  and  compassion  for  the  character  of  our 
family: — What  is  the  character  of  a  family  to  an 
hypothesis'?  my  father  would  reply. — Nay,  if  you 
come  to  that — what  is  the  life  of  a  family  1 — The  life 
of  a  family  !— my  uncle  Toby  would  say,  throwing 
himself  back  in  his  arm-chair,  and  lifting  up  his 
hands,  his  eyes,  and  one  leg. — Yes,  the  life, — my  father 
would  say,  maintaining  his  point,  how  many  thousands 
of  them  are  there  every  year  that  conies,  cast  away 


MY  UNCLE  TOBY.  29 

(in  all  civilized  countries  at  least) — and  considered  as 
nothing  but  common  air,  in  competition  of  an  hypo- 
thesis. In  my  plain  sense  of  things,  my  uncle  Toby 
would  answer,— every  such  instance  is  downright 
Murder,  let  who  will  commit  it. — There  lies  your  mis- 
take, my  father  would  reply ;  for  in  Foro  Scientice  there 
is  no- such  thing  as  Murder. — 'tis  only  Death,  brother. 
My  uncle  Toby  would  never  offer  to  answer  this  by 
any  other  kind  of  argument,  than  that  of  whistling 
half  a  dozen  bars  of  Lillibullero, — You  must  know  it 
was  the  usual  channel  through  which  his  passions 
got  vent,  when  anything  shocked  or  surprised  him  ; — 
but  especially  when  anything,  which  he  deemed  very 
absurd,  was  offered. 

Now  the  hobby-horse  which  my  uncle  Toby  always 
rode  upon,  was,  in  my  opinion,  a  hobby-horse  well  worth 
giving  a  description  of,  if  it  was  only  upon  the  score 
of  his  great  singularity ;  for  you  might  have  travelled 
from  York  to  Dover,  from  Dover  to  Penzance  in  Corn- 
wall, and  from  Penzance  to  York  back  again,  and  not 
have  seen  such  another  upon  the  road  ;  or  if  you  had 
seen  such  a  one,  whatever  haste  you  had  been  in,  you 
must  infallibly  have  stopped  to  have  taken  a  view  of 
him. 

In  good  truth  my  uncle  Toby  mounted  him  with  so 
much  pleasure,  and  he  carried  my  uncle  Toby  so  well, 
that  he  troubled  his  head  very  little  with  what  the 
world  said  or  thought  about  it.  But  to  go  on  regu- 
larly, I  only  beg  you  will  give  me  leave  to  acquaint 
you  first  how  my  uncle  Toby  came  by  him. 

The  wound  in  my  uncle  Toby's  groin,  which  he 
received  at  the  siege  of  Namur,  rendering  him  unfit 
for  the  service,  it  was  thought  expedient  he  should  re- 
turn to  England,  in  order,  if  possible,  to  be  set  to  rights. 
He  was  four  years  totally  confined— part  of  it  to 
his  bed,  and  all  of  it  to  his  room  ;  and  in  the  course 
of  his  cure,  which  was  all  that  time  in  hand,  suffered 
unspeakable  miseries, — owing  to  a  succession  of  exfo- 


30  THE  STORY  OF 

liation  from  the  os  pubis,  and  the  outward  edge  of 
that  part  of  the  coxendix  called  the  os  ileum, — both 
which  bones  were  dismally  crushed,  as  much  by  the 
irregularity  of  the  stone,  which  I  told  you  was  broke 
off  the  parapet, — as  by  its  size, — (though  it  was  pretty 
large)  which  inclined  the  surgeons  all  along  to  think, 
that  the  great  injury  which  it  had  done  my  uncle 
Toby's  groin,  was  more  owing  to  the  gravity  of  the 
stone  itself,  than  to  the  projectile  force  of  it— which  he 
would  often  tell  him  was  a  great  happiness. 

My  father  at  that  time  was  just  beginning  business 
in  London,  and  had  taken  a  house  ; — and  as  the  truest 
friendship  and  cordiality  subsisted  between  the  two 
brothers, — and  that  my  father  thought  my  uncle  Toby 
could  nowhere  be  so  well  nursed  and  taken  care  of  as 
in  his  own  house,— he  assigned  him  the  very  best 
apartment  in  it. — And  what  was  a  much  more  sincere 
mark  of  his  affection  still,  he  would  never  suffer  a 
friend  or  an  acquaintance  to  step  into  the  house  on 
any  occasion,  but  he  would  take  him  by  the  hand, 
and  lead  him  upstairs  to  see  his  brother  Toby,  and 
chat  an  hour  by  his  bedside. 

The  history  of  a  soldier's  wound  beguiles  the  pain 
of  it ; — my  uncle's  visitors  at  least  thought  so,  and  in 
their  daily  calls  upon  him,  from  the  courtesy  arising 
out  of  that  belief,  they  would  frequently  turn  the  dis- 
course to  that  subject, — and  from  that  subject  the  dis- 
course would  generally  roll  on  to  the  siege  itself. 

These  conversations  were  infinitely  kind ;  and  my 
uncle  Toby  received  great  relief  from  them,  and  would 
have  received  much  more,  but  that  they  brought  him 
into  some  unforeseen  perplexities,  which,  for  three 
months  together,  retarded  his  cure  greatly  ;  and  if  he 
had  not  hit  upon  an  expedient  to  extricate  himself  out 
of  them,  I  verily  believe  they  would  have  laid  him  in 
his  grave. 

I  must  remind  the  reader,  in  case  he  has  read  the 
history  of  King  William's  wars, — but  if  he  has  not, — 


MY  UNCLE  TOBY.  31 

I  then  inform  him,  that  one  of  the  most  memorable 
attacks  in  that  siege,  was  that  which  was  made  by  the 
English  and  Dutch  upon  the  point  of  the  advanced 
counterscarp,  between  the  gate  of  St.  Nicholas,  which 
inclosed  the  great  sluice  or  water- stop,  where  the 
English  were  terribly  exposed  to  the  shot  of  the  coun- 
ter-guard and  demi-bastion  of  St.  Roch ;  the  issue  of 
which  hot  dispute,  in  three  words,  was  this ;  that  the 
Dutch  lodged  themselves  upon  the  counter-guard, — 
and  that  the  English  made  themselves  masters  of  the 
covered  way  before  St.  Nicholas's  gate,  notwithstand- 
ing the  gallantry  of  the  French  officers,  who  exposed 
themselves  upon  the  glacis  sword  in  hand. 

As  this  was  the  principal  attack  of  which  my  uncle 
Toby  was  an  eye-witness  at  Namur, — the  army  of  the 
besiegers  being  cut  off,  by  the  confluence  of  the  Maes 
and  Sambre,  from  seeing  much  of  each  other's  opera- 
tions,— my  uncle  Toby  was  generally  more  eloquent 
and  particular  in  his  account  of  it ;  and  the  many 
perplexities  he  was  in,  arose  out  of  the  almost  insur- 
mountable difficulties  he  found  in  telling  his  story 
intelligibly,  and  giving  such  clear  ideas  of  the  dif- 
ferences and  distinctions  between  the  scarp  and  coun- 
terscarp,— the  glacis  and  covered-way, — the  half-moon 
and  ravelin, — as  to  make  his  company  fully  compre- 
hend where  and  what  he  was  about. 

What  rendered  the  account  of  this  affair  the  more 
intricate  to  my  uncle  Toby,  was  this, — that  in  the  at- 
tack of  the  counterscarp  before  the  gate  of  St.  Nicho- 
las, extending  itself  from  the  bank  of  the  Maes,  quite 
up  to  the  great  water-stop, — the  ground  was  cut  and 
cross  cut  with  such  a  multitude  of  dykes,  drains, 
rivulets,  and  sluices  on  all  sides, — and  he  would  get 
so  sadly  bewildered  and  set  fast  amongst  them,  that 
frequently  he  could  neither  get  backwards  or  forwards 
to  save  his  life  ;  and  was  ofttimes  obliged  to  give  up 
the  attack  upon  that  very  account  only. 

These    perplexing   rebuffs   gave    my  uncle    Toby 


32  THE  STOEY  OF 

Shandy  more  perturbations  than  you  would  imagine  ; 
and  as  my  father's  kindness  to  him  was  continually 
dragging  up  fresh  friends  and  fresh  inquirers, — he 
had  but  a  very  uneasy  task  of  it. 

No  doubt  my  uncle  Toby  had  great  command  of 
himself, — and  could  guard  appearances,  I  believe,  as 
well  as  most  men  ; — yet  any  one  may  imagine,  that 
when  he  could  not  retreat  out  of  the  ravelin  without 
getting  into  the  half -moon,  or  get  out  of  the  covered 
way  without  falling  down  the  counterscarp,  or  cross 
the  dyke  without  danger  of  slipping  into  the  ditch, 
but  that  he  must  have  fretted  and  fumed  inwardly  ;— 
he  did  so ;  he  could  not  philosophise  upon  it ; — 'twas 
enough  he  felt  it  was  so, — and  naving  sustained  the 
pain  and  sorrows  of  it  for  three  months  together,  he 
was  resolved  some  way  or  other  to  extricate  himself. 

He  was  one  morning  lying  upon  his  back  in  his 
bed,  the  anguish  and  nature  of  the  wound  upon  his 
groin  suffering  him  to  lie  in  no  other  position,  when  a 
thought  came  into  his  head,  that  if  he  could  purchase 
such  a  thing,  and  have  it  pasted  down  upon  a  board, 
as  a  large  map  of  the  fortification  of  the  town  and 
citadel  of  Namur,  with  its  environs,  it  might  be  a 
means  of  giving  him  ease. — I  take  notice  of  his  desire 
to  have  the  environs  along  with  the  town  and  citadel, 
for  this  reason, — because  my  uncle  Toby's  wound  was 
got  in  one  of  the  traverses,  about  thirty  toises  from 
the  returning  angle  of  the  trench,  opposite  to  the 
salient  angle  of  the  demi-bastion  of  St.  Roch;— so 
that  he  was  pretty  confident  he  could  stick  a  pin  upon 
the  identical  spot  of  ground  where  he  was  standing 
when  the  stone  struck  him. 

AYhen  my  uncle  Toby  got  his  map  of  Namur  to  his 
mind,  he  began  immediately  to  apply  himself,  and. 
with  the  utmost  diligence,  to  the  study  of  it ;  for 
nothing  being  of  more  importance  to  him  than  his 
recovery,  and  his  recovery  depending,  as  you  have 
read,  upon  the  passions  and  affections  of  his  mind,  it 


3/r  UNCLE  TOST.  33 

behoved  him  to  take  the  nicest  care  to  make  himself 
so  far  master  of  his  subject,  as  to  be  able  to  talk  upon 
it  without  emotion. 

In  a  fortnight's  close  and  painful  application,  which, 
by-the-bye,  did  my  uncle  Toby's  wound,  upon  his 
groin,  no  good, — he  was  enabled,  by  the  help  of  some 
marginal  documents  at  the  feet  of  the  elephant, 
together  with  Gobesius's  military  architecture  and 
pyroballogy,  translated  from  the  Flemish,  to  form  his 
discourse  with  passable  perspicuity ;  and  before  he 
was  two  full  months  gone, — he  was  right  eloquent 
upon  it,  and  could  make  not  only  the  attack  of  the 
advanced  counterscarp  with  great  order  ; — but  having, 
by  that  time,  gone  much  deeper  into  the  art,  than 
what  his  first  motive  made  necessary,  my  uncle  Toby- 
was  able  to  cross  the  Maes  and  Sambre ;  make  di- 
versions as  far  as  Vauban's  line,  the  abbey  of  Salfines, 
&c.,  and  give  his  visitors  as  distinct  a  history  of  each 
of  their  attacks,  as  of  that  of  the  gate  of  St.  Nicholas, 
where  he  had  the  honour  to  receive  his  wound. 

But  the  desire  of  knowledge,  like  the  thirst  of 
riches,  increases  ever  with  the  acquisition  of  it.  The 
more  my  uncle  Toby  pored  over  his  map,  the  more  he 
took  a  liking  to  it. 

The  more  my  uncle  Toby  drank  of  this  sweet  foun- 
tain of  science,  the  greater  was  the  heat  and  impatience 
of  his  thirst,  so  that  before  the  first  year  of  nis  con- 
finement had  well  gone  round,  there  was  scarce  a 
fortified  town  in  Italy  or  Flanders,  for  which,  by  one 
means  or  other,  he  had  not  procured  a  plan,  reading 
over  as  he  got  them,  and  carefully  collating  therewith 
the  history  of  their  sieges,  their  demolitions,  their 
improvements,  and  new  works,  all  which  he  would 
read  with  that  intense  application  and  delight,  that 
he  would  forget  himself,  his  wound,  his  confinement, 
his  dinner. 

In  the  second  year  my  uncle  Toby  purchased 
Eomelli  and  Cataneo,  translated  from  the  Italian ; — 

3 


34 


THE  STORY  OF 


likewise  Stevinus,  Moralis,  the  Chevalier  de  Ville, 
Lorini,  Coehorn,  Sheeter,  the  Count  de  Pagan,  the 
Marshal  Vauban,  Mons.  Blondel,  with  almost  as  many 
more  books  of  military  architecture,  as  Don  Quixote 
was  found  to  have  of  chivalry,  when  the  curate  and 
barber  invaded  his  library. 

Towards  the  beginning  of  the  third  year,  which  was 
in  August,  ninety-nine,  my  uncle  Toby  found  it  neces- 
sary to  understand  a  little  of  projectiles  : — and  having 
judged  it  best  to  draw  his  knowledge  from  the  fountain- 
head,  he  began  with  N.  Tartaglia,  who  it  seems  was 
the  first  man  who  detected  the  imposition  of  a  cannon- 
ball's  doing  all  that  mischief  under  the  notion  of  a 
right  line — This  N.  Tartaglia  proved  to  my  uncle 
Toby  to  be  an  impossible  thing. 

Endless  is  the  search  of  truth  ! 

No  sooner  was  niy  uncle  Toby  satisfied  which  road 
the  cannon-ball  did  not  go,  but  he  was  insensibly  led 
on,  and  resolved  in  his  mind  to  enquire  and  find  out 
which  road  the  ball  did  go  :  for  which  purpose  he  was 
obliged  to  set  off  afresh  with  old  Maltus,  and  studied 
him  devoutly. — He  proceeded  next  to  Gallileo  and 
Torricellius,  wherein,  by  certain  geometrical  rules, 
infallibly  laid  down,  he  found  the  precise  path  to  be 
a  parabola— or  else  an  hyperbola, — and  that  the  para- 
meter of  the  conic  section  of  the  said  path,  was  to  the 
quantity  and  aniptitude  in  a  direct  ratio,  as  the  wThole 
line  to  the  sine  of  double  the  angle  of  incidence,  and 

that  the  semiparameter, stop  !  my  dear  uncle 

Toby, — stop  !  go  not  one  foot  farther  into  this  thorny 
and  bewildered  track, — intricate  are  the  steps !  in- 
tricate are  the  mazes  of  this  labyrinth  !  Is  it  fit,  good- 
natured  man  !  thou  shouldest  sit  up,  with  the  wound 
upon  thy  groin,  whole  nights  baking  thy  blood  with 
hectic  watchings  1 — Alas  !  'twill  exasperate  thy  symp- 
toms,— check  thy  perspiration, — evaporate  thy  spirits, 
— waste  thy  animal  strength, —  dry  up  thy  radical 
moisture.— bring  thee  into  a  costive  habit  of  body.— 


MY  UNCLE  TOST.  35 

impair  thy  health,  and  hasten  all  the  infirmities  of  thy 
old  age. — O  my  uncle  !  my  uncle  Toby  ! 

In  the  latter  end  of  the  third  year,  my  uncle  Toby 
perceiving  that  the  parameter  and  semi-parameter  of 
the  conic  section  angered  his  wound,  he  left  off  the 
study  of  projectiles  in  a  kind  of  a  huff,  and  betook 
himself  to  the  practical  part  of  the  fortification  only  ; 
the  pleasure  of  which,  like  a  spring  held  back,  re- 
turned upon  him  with  redoubled  force. 

It  was  in  this  year  that  my  uncle  began  to  break  in 
upon  the  daily  regularity  of  a  clean  shirt, — to  dismiss 
his  barber  unshaven, — and  to  allow  his  surgeon  scarce 
time  sufficient  to  dress  his  wound,  concerning  himself 
so  little  about  it,  as  not  to  ask  him  once  iii  seven 
times  dressing  how  it  went  on  :  when  lo !  all  of  a 
sudden,  for  the  change  was  as  quick  as  lightning,  he 
began  to  sigh  heavily  for  his  recovery, — com  plained  to 
my  father,  grew  impatient  with  the  surgeon ; — and 
one  morning  as  he  heard  his  foot  coming  up  stairs, 
he  shut  up  his  books,  and  thrust  aside  his  instruments, 
in  order  to  expostulate  with  him  upon  the  protraction 
of  the  cure,  which,  he  told  him,  might  surely  have 
been  accomplished  at  least  by  that  time : — he  dwelt 
long  upon  the  miseries  he  had  undergone,  and  the 
sorrows  of  his  four  years'  melancholy  imprisonment ; 
— adding,  that  had  it  not  been  for  the  kind  looks,  and 
fraternal  cheerings  of  the  best  of  brothers, — he  had 
long  since  sunk  under  his  misfortunes.  My  father 
was  by  :  my  uncle  Toby's  eloquence  brought  tears  into 
his  eyes  ; — 'twas  unexpected — my  uncle  Toby,  by 
nature,  was  not  eloquent ; — it  had  the  greater  effect. 
The  surgeon  was  confounded  ; — not  that  there  wanted 
grounds  for  such,  or  greater,  marks  of  impatience,  but 
'twas  unexpected  too  ;  in  the  four  years  he  had 
attended  him,  he  had  never  seen  anything  like  it  in 
my  uncle  Toby's  carriage  ; — he  had  never  once  dropped 
one  fretful  or  discontented  word, — he  had  been  all 
patience, — all  submission. 

3—2 


36  THE  STORY  OF 

We  lose  the  right  of  complaining  sometimes  by 
forbearing  it ; — but  we  often  treble  the  force  : — the 
surgeon  was  astonished  ; — but  much  more  so,  when  he 
heard  my  uncle  Toby  go  on,  and  peremptorily  insist 
upon  his  healing  up  the  wound  directly, — or  sending 
for  Monsieur  Ronjat,  the  king's  serjeant-surgeon,  to  do 
it  for  him. 

When  my  uncle  Toby's  wound  was  near  well,  and  as 
soon  as  the  surgeon  recovered  his  surprise,  and  could 
get  leave  to  say  as  much — he  told  him,  'twas  just 
beginning  to  incarnate  ;  and  that  if  no  fresh  exfolia- 
tion happened,  which  there  was  no  sign  of, — it  would 
be  dried  up  in  five  or  six  weeks.  The  sound  of  as 
many  Olympiads  twelve  hours  before,  would  have 
conveyed  an  idea  of  shorter  duration  to  my  uncle 
Toby's  mind.  The  succession  of  his  ideas  was  now 
rapid, — he  broiled  with  impatience  to  put  his  design 
in  execution; — and  so,  without  consulting  farther  with 
any  soul  living, — which,  by  the  bye,  I  think  is  right, 
when  you  are  predetermined  to  take  no  one  soul's  ad- 
vice,— he  privately  ordered  Trim,  his  man,  to  pack  up 
a  bundle  of  lint  and  dressings,  and  hire  a  chariot  and 
four  to  be  at  the  door  exactly  by  twelve  o'clock  that 
day,  when  he  knew  my  father  would  be  upon  'Change. 
— So  leaving  a  bank-note  upon  the  table  for  the  sur- 
geon's care  of  him,  and  a  letter  of  tender  thanks  for 
his  brother's — he  packed  up  his  maps,  his  books  of 
fortification,  his  instruments,  &c.,  and  by  the  help  of 
a  crutch  on  one  side,  and  Trim  on  the  other,— my 
uncle  Toby  embarked  for  Shandy  Hall. 

The  reason,  or  rather  the  rise,  of  this  sudden  derni- 
gration,  was  as  follows  : 

The  table  in  my  uncle  Toby's  room,  and  at  which, 
the  night  before  this  change  happened,  he  was  sitting 
with  his  maps,  &c.,  about  him,— being  somewhat  of 
the  smallest,  for  that  infinity  of  great  and  small  in- 
struments of  knowledge  which  usually  lay  crowded 
upon  it — he  had  the  accident,  in  reaching  over  for  his 


MY  UNCLE  TOBY.  37 

tobacco-box,  to  throw  down  his  compasses,  and  in 
stooping  to  take  the  compasses  up,  with  his  sleeve  he 
threw  down  his  case  of  instruments  and  snuffers  ; — 
and  as  the  dice  took  a  run  against  him,  in  his  en- 
deavouring to  catch  the  snuffers  in  falling, — he  thrust 
Monsieur  Blondel  off  the  table,  and  Count  de  Pagan 
o'top  of  him. 

'Twas  to  no  purpose  for  a  man,  lame  as  my  uncle 
Toby  was,  to  think  of  redressing  all  these  evils  by 
himself,  —he  rung  his  bell  for  his  man  Trim  ; — "  Trim," 
quoth  my  uncle  Toby,  "  prithee  see  what  confusion  I 
have  here  been  making — I  must  have  some  better 
contrivance,  Trim. — Canst  not  thou  take  my  rule,  and 
measure  the  length  and  breadth  of  this  table,  and 
then  go  and  bespeak  me  one  as  big  again]" — "Yes, 
an'  please  your  honour,"  replied  Trim,  making  a  bow  ; 
"  but  I  hope  your  honour  will  be  soon  well  enough  to 
get  down  to  your  country  seat,  where, — as  your  honour 
takes  so  much  pleasure  in  fortification,  we  could 
manage  this  matter  to  a  T." 

I  must  here  inform  you,  that  this  servant  of  my 
uncle  Toby's,  who  went  by  the  name  of  Trim,  had 
been  a  corporal  in  my  uncle's  own  company, — his  real 
name  was  James  Butler, — but  having  got  the  nick- 
name of  Trim  in  the  regiment,  my  uncle  Toby,  unless 
when  he  happened  to  be  very  angry  with  him,  would 
never  call  him  by  any  other  name. 

The  poor  fellow  had  been  disabled  for  the  service 
by  a  wound  on  his  left  knee  by  a  musket  bullet,  at  the 
battle  of  Landen,  which  was  two  years  before  the 
affair  of  JSTamur  ; — and  as  the  fellow  was  well  beloved 
in  the  regiment,  and  a  handy  fellow  in  the  bargain,  my 
uncle  Toby  took  him  for  his  servant ;  and  of  excellent 
use  was  he,  attending  my  uncle  Toby  in  the  camp  and 
in  his  quarters  as  valet,  groom,  barber,  cook,  sempster, 
and  nurse,  and,  indeed,  from  first  to  last,  waited  upon 
him  and  served  him  with  great  fidelity  and  affec- 
tion. 


38  THE  STOEY  OF 

My  uncle  Toby  loved  the  man  in  return,  and  what 
attached  him  more  to  him  still,  was  the  similitude  of 
their  knowledge  : — for  Corporal  Trim  (for  so,  for  the 
future,  I  shall  call  him),  by  four  years'  occasional 
attention  to  his  master's  discourse  upon  fortified 
towns,  and  the  advantage  of  prying  and  peeping 
continually  into  his  master's  plans,  &c.,  exclusive  and 
besides  what  he  gained  hobby-horsically,  as  a  body- 
servant,  flon  Hobby -horsical  per  se  ; — had  become  no 
mean  proficient  in  the  science  •  and  was  thought,  by 
the  cook  and  chambermaid,  to  know  as  much  of  the 
nature  of  strongholds  as  my  uncle  Toby  himself. 

I  have  but  one  more  stroke  to  give  to  finish  Corporal 
Trim's  character, — and  it  is  the  only  dark  line  in  it. 
The  fellow  loved  to  advise, — or  rather  to  hear  himself 
talk  ;  his  carriage,  however,  was  so  perfectly  respectful, 
'twas  easy  to  keep  him  silent  when  you  had  him  so  ; 
but  set  his  tongue  agoing, — you  had  no  hold  of  him  ; 
he  was  voluble ;— the  eternal  interlardings  of  your 
Honour,  with  the  respectfulness  of  Corporal  Trim's 
manner,  interceding  so  strong  in  behalf  of  his  elocu- 
tion,— that  though  you  might  have  been  incommoded, 
— you  could  not  well  be  angry.  My  uncle  Toby  was 
seldom  either  the  one  or  the  other  with  him, — or,  at 
least,  this  fault  in  Trim  broke  no  squares  with  'em. 
My  uncle  Toby,  as  I  said,  loved  the  man  ;— and  be- 
sides, as  he  ever  looked  upon  a  faithful  servant — but  as 
an  humble  friend, — he  could  not  bear  to  stop  his 
mouth. — Such  was  Corporal  Trim. 

If  I  durst  presume,  continued  Trim,  to  give  your 
honour  my  advice,  and  speak  my  opinion  in  this 
matter. — Thou  art  welcome,  Trim,  quoth  my  uncle 
Toby, — speak, — speak  what  thou  thinkest  upon  the 
subject,  man,  without  fear.  Why  then,  replied  Trim, 
(not  hanging  his  ears,  and  scratching  his  head  like  a 
country  lout,  but)  stroking  his  hair  back  from  his  fore- 
head, and  standing  erect  as  before  his  division, — I 
think,  quoth  Trim,  advancing  his  left,  which  was  his 


MY  UNCLE  TOST.  39 

lame  leg,  a  little  forwards, — and  pointing  with  his 
right  hand  open  towards  a  map  of  Dunkirk,  which  was 
pinned  against  the  hangings, — I  think,  quoth  Corporal 
Trim,  with  humble  submission  to  your  honour's  better 
judgment, — that  these  ravelins,  bastions,  curtains,  and 
horn-works,  make  but  a  poor,  contemptible,  fiddle- 
faddle  piece  of  work  of  it  here  upon  paper,  compared 
to  what  your  honour  and  I  could  make  of  it,  were  we 
in  the  country  by  ourselves,  and  had  but  a  rood  or  a 
rood  and  a  half  of  ground  to  do  what  we  pleased 
with  :  as  summer  is  coming  on,  continued  Trim,  your 
honour  might  sit  out  of  doors,  and  give  me  the  nogra- 
phy — (call  it  ichnography,  quoth  my  uncle) — of  the 
town  or  citadel,  your  honour  was  pleased  to  sit  down 
before, — and  I  will  be  shot  by  your  honour  upon  the 
glacis  of  it,  if  I  did  not  fortify  it  to  your  honour's 
mind. — I  dare  say  thou  would'st,  Trim,  quoth  my 
uncle. — For  if  your  honour,  continued  the  corporal, 
could  but  mark  me  the  polygon,  with  its  exact  lines 
and  angles. — That  I  could  do  very  well,  quoth  my 
uncle. — I  would  begin  with  the  fosse",  and  if  your 
honour  could  tell  me  the  proper  breadth.  —  I 
can  to  a  hair's  breadth,  Trim,  replied  my  uncle.— I 
would  throw  out  the  earth  upon  this  hand  towards 
the  town  for  the  scarp, — and  on  that  hand  towards  the 
campaign  for  the  counterscarp. — Very  right,  Trim, 
quoth  my  uncle  Toby. — And  when  I  had  sloped  them 
to  your  mind, — an'  please  your  honour,  I  would  face 
the  glacis,  as  the  finest  fortifications  are  done  in 
Flanders,  with  sods, — and  as  your  honour  knows  they 
should  be, — and  I  would  make  the  walls  and  parapets 
with  sods  too. — The  best  engineers  call  them  gazons, 
Trim,  said  my  uncle  Toby. — Whether  they  are  gazons 
or  sods,  is  not  much  matter,  replied  Trim ;  your 
honour  knows  they  are  ten  times  beyond  a  facing 
either  of  brick  or  stone.  —I  know  they  are,  Trim,  in 
some  respects, — quoth  my  uncle  Toby,  nodding  his 
head ; — for  a  cannon  ball  enters  into  the  gazon  right 


40  THE  STORY  OF 

onwards,  without  bringing  any  rubbish  down  with  it, 
which  might  fill  the  fosse"  (as  was  the  case  at  St. 
Nicholas's  gate),  and  facilitate  the  passage  over  it. 

Your  honour  understands  these  matters,  replied 
Corporal  Trim,  better  than  any  officer  in  his  Majesty's 
service ;—  but  would  your  honour  please  to  let  the 
bespeaking  of  the  table  alone,  and  let  us  but  go  into 
the  country,  I  would  work  under  your  honour's  direc- 
tions like  a  horse,  and  make  fortifications  for  you 
something  like  a  tansy,  with  all  their  batteries, 
saps,  ditches,  and  pausadoes,  that  it  should  be 
worth  all  the  world's  riding  twenty  miles  to  go  and 
see  it. 

My  uncle  Toby  blushed  as  red  as  scarlet  as  Trim 
went  on  ; — but  it  was  not  a  blush  of  guilt, — of 
modesty, — or  of  anger  ; — it  was  a  blush  of  joy ; — he 
was  fired  with  Corporal  Trim's  project  and  descrip- 
tion.— Trim  !  said  my  uncle  Toby,  thou  hast  said 
enough. — We  might  begin  the  campaign,  continued 
Trim,  on  the  very  day  that  his  Majesty  and  the  allies 
take  the  field.,  and  demolish  them  town  by  town  as 

fast  as Trim,  quoth  my  uncle  Toby,  say  no  more. 

— Your  honour,  continued  Trim,  inignt  sit  in  your 
arm-chair  (pointing  to  it)  this  fine  weather,  giving  me 

your  orders,  and  I  wrould Say  no  more,  Trim, 

quoth  my  uncle  Toby. — Besides,  your  honour  would 
get  not  only  pleasure  and  good  pastime, — but  good 
air,  and  good  exercise,  and  good  health, — and  your 
honour's  wound  would  be  well  in  a  mouth.  Thou 


this  moment  go  and  buy  a  pioneer's  spade  to  take 
down  with  us,  and  I'll  bespeak  a  shovel  and  a  pickaxe, 

and  a  couple  of Say  no  more,  Trim,  quoth  my 

uncle  Toby,  leaping  up  upon  one  leg,  quite  overcome 
with  rapture, — and  thrusting  a  guinea  into  Trim's 
hand,— Trim,  said  my  uncle  Toby,  say  no  more  ;— but 


MY  UNCLE  TOBY.  41 

go  down,  Trim,  this  moment,  my  lad,  and  bring  up 
my  supper  this  instant. 

Trim  ran  down  and  brought  up  his  master's  supper, — 
to  no  purpose  : — Trim's  plan  of  operation  ran  so  in 
my  uncle  Toby's  head,  he  could  not  taste  it. — Trim, 
quoth  my  uncle  Toby,  get  me  to  bed. — 'Twas  all  one. — 
Corporal  Trim's  description  had  fired  his  imagina- 
tion,— my  uncle  Toby  could  not  shut  his  eyes.— The 
more  he  considered  it,  the  more  bewitching  the  scene 
appeared  to  him ; — so  that,  two  full  hours  before 
daylight,  he  had  come  to  a  final  determination,  and 
had  concerted  the  whole  plan  of  his  and  Corporal 
Trim's  decampment. 

My  uncle  Toby  had  a  little  neat  country-house  of 
his  own,  in  the  village  where  my  father's  estate  lay  at 
Shandy,  which  had  been  left  him  by  an  old  uncle, 
with  a  small  estate  of  about  one  hundred  pounds  a 
year.  Behind  this  house,  and  contiguous  to  it,  was  a 
kitchen-garden  of  about  half  an  acre  ;  and  at  the 
bottom  of  the  garden,  and  cut  off  from  it  by  a  tall 
yew  hedge,  was  a  bowling-green,  containing  just  about 
as  much  ground  as  Corporal  Trim  wished  for; — so 
that  as  Trim  uttered  the  words,  "A  rood  and  a  half  of 
ground  to  do  what  they  would  with," — this  identical 
bowling-green  instantly  presented  itself,  and  became 
curiously  painted  all  at  once  upon  the  retina  of  my 
uncle  Toby's  fancy  ;  —which  was  the  physical  cause  of 
making  him  change  colour,  or  at  least  of  heightening 
his  blush  to  that  immoderate  degree  I  spoke  of. 

Never  did  lover  post  down  to  a  beloved  mistress 
with  more  heat  and  expectation  than  my  uncle  Toby 
did,  to  enjoy  this  self -same  thing  in  private;— I  say 
in  private  ; — for  it  was  sheltered  from  the  house,  as  I 
told  you,  by  a  tall  yew  hedge,  and  was  covered  on  the 
other  three  sides,  from  mortal  sight,  by  rough  holly 
and  thickset  flowering  shrubs ;— so  that  the  idea  of 
not  being  seen  did  not  a  little  contribute  to  the  idea 
of  pleasure  preconceived  in  my  uncle  Toby's  mind. — 


42  MT  UNCLE  TOBY. 

Vain  thought !  however  thick  it  was  planted  out, — or 
private  soever  it  might  seem, — to  think,  dear  uncle 
Toby,  of  enjoying  a  thing  which  took  up  a  whole  rood 
and  a  half  of  ground, — and  not  have  it  known  ! 

How  my  uncle  Toby  and  Corporal  Trim  managed 
this  matter, — with  the  history  of  their  campaigns, 
which  were  no  way  barren  of  events, — may  make  no 
uninteresting  under-plot  in  the  epitasis  and  working-up 
of  this  drama. — At  present  the  scene  must  drop, — and 
change  for  the  parlour  fire-side. 


CHAPTEE  IV. 

DOCTOR  SLOP. 

j|HAT  can  they  be  doing,  brother1?  said  my 
father. — I  think,  replied  my  uncle  Toby, — 
taking,  as  I  told  you,  his  pipe  from  his 
I  mouth,  and  striking  the  ashes  out  of  it  as 
he  began  his  sentence ;  I  think,  replied  he — it  would 
not  be  amiss,  brother,  if  we  rung  the  bell. 

Pray  what's  all  that  racket  over  our  heads,  Oba- 
diah!  —  quoth  my  father; — my  brother  and  I  can 
scarce  hear  ourselves  speak. 

Sir,  answered  Obadiah,  making  a  bow  towards  his 
left  shoulder,— my  mistress  is  taken  very  badly.— And 
where's  Susannah  running  down  the  garden  there  1 — 
Sir,  she  is  running  the  shortest  cut  into  the  town, 
replied  Obadiah,  to  fetch  the  old  midwife. — Then 
saddle  a  horse,  quoth  my  father,  and  do  you  go 
directly  for  Dr.  Slop,  the  man-midwife,  with  all  our 
services, — and  let  him  know  your  mistress  is  fallen 
into  labour,— and  that  I  desire  he  will  return  with 
you  with  all  speed. 

It  is  very  strange,  says  my  father,  addressing 
himself  to  my  uncle  Toby,  as  Obadiah  shut  the 
door,— as  there  is  so  expert  an  operator  as  Dr.  Slop  so 
near, — that  my  wife  should  persist  to  the  very  last  in 
the  obstinate  humour  of  hers,  in  trusting  the  life  of 
my  child,  who  has  had  one  misfortune  already,  to  the 


44  THE  STORY  OF 

ignorance  of  an  old  woman  ;— and  not  only  the  life  of 
my  child— brother,  but  her  own  life,  and  with  it  the 
lives  of  all  the  children  that  might,  peradventure, 
have  been  born  to  me  hereafter. 

Mayhap,  brother,  replied  my  uncle  Toby,  my  sister 
does  it  to  save  the  expense : — A  pudding's  end, — 
replied  my  father, — the  doctor  must  be  paid  the  same 
for  inaction  as  action,— if  not  better, — to  keep  him  in 
temper. 

— Then  it  can  be  out  of  nothing  in  the  whole 
world, — quoth  my  uncle  Toby,  in  the  simplicity  of  his 
heart, — but  modesty. — My  uncle  Toby  had  not  fully 
arrived  at  the  period's  end, — then  the  world  stands 
indebted  to  the  sudden  snapping  of  my  father's  tobacco 
pipe,  for  one  of  the  neatest  examples  of  that  orna- 
mental figure  in  oratory  which  rhetoricians  style  the 
Aposiopesis. 

Though  my  father  was  a  good  natural  philoso- 
pher, yet  he  was  something  of  a  moral  philosopher 
too ;  for  which  reason,  when  his  tobacco  pipe  snapped 
short  in  the  middle, — he  had  nothing  to  do,  as  such, 
but  to  have  taken  hold  of  the  two  pieces,  and  thrown 
them  gently  upon  the  back  of  the  fire. — He  did  no 
such  thing ; — he  threw  them  with  all  the  violence  in 
the  world ; — and  to  give  the  action  still  more  em- 
phasis,— he  started  up  upon  both  his  legs  to  do  it. 

This  looked  something  like  heat ;  and  the  manner 
of  his  reply  to  what  my  uncle  Toby  was  saying  proved 
it  was  so. 

— "  By  heaven,  brother  Toby  !  you  would  try  the 
patience  of  Job  ; — and  !*>  think  I  have  the  plagues  of 
one  already,  without  it.— Why  ?—  Where  1— Wherein  ] 
— Wherefore  1—  Upon  what  account1?  replied  my 
uncle  Toby,  in  the  utmost  astonishment.— To  think, 
said  my  father,  of  a  man  living  to  your  age,  brother, 
and  knowing  so  little  about  women ! —  I  know  nothing 
at  all  about  them, — replied  my  uncle  Toby. — Then, 
brother  Toby,  replied  my  father,  I  will  tell  you.  If  a 


MY  UNCLE  TOST.  45 

man  was  to  sit  down  coolly  and  consider  within 
himself  the  whole  of  that  animal  called  Woman — 
compare  her  analogically. — I  never  understood  rightly 
the  meaning  of  that  word — quoth  my  uncle  Toby. — 
Analogy,  replied  my  father,  is  the  certain  relation 
and  agreement  which  different — Here  a  devil  of  a  rap 
at  the  door  snapped  my  father's  definition  (like  his 
tobacco-pipe)  in  two. 

Imagine  to  yourself  a  little,  squat,  uncourtly  figure 
of  a  Doctor  Slop,  of  about  four  feet  and  a  half  perpen- 
dicular height,  with  a  breadth  of  back,  and  a  susqui- 
pedality  of  belly,  which  might  have  done  honour  to  a 
Serjeant  in  the  Horse  Guards. 

Imagine  such  a  one, — for  such,  I  say,  were  the  out- 
lines of  Dr.  Slop's  figure,  coming  slowly  along,  foot  by 
foot,  waddling  through  the  dirt  upon  the  vertebras  of 
a  little  diminutive  pony,  of  a  pretty  colour, — but  of 
strength, — alack  ! — scarce  able  to  have  made  an  amble 
of  it,  under  such  a  fardel,  had  the  roads  been  in  an 
ambling  condition. — They  were  not. — Imagine  to  your- 
self, Obadiah  mounted  upon  a  strong  monster  of  a 
coach-horse,  pricked  into  a  full  gallop,  and  making 
all  practicable  speed  the  adverse  way. 

Pray,  sir,  let  me  interest  you  a  moment  in  this 
description. 

Had  Dr.  Slop  beheld  Obadiah  a  mile  off,  posting 
in  a  narrow  lane  directly  towards  him,  at  that  mons- 
trous rate, — splashing  and  plunging  like  a  devil 
through  thick  and  thin,  as  he  approached,  would  not 
such  a  phenomenon,  with  such  a  vortex  of  mud  and 
water  moving  along  with  it,  round  its  axis, — have 
been  a  subject  of  juster  apprehension  to  Dr.  Slop  in 
his  situation,  than  the  worst  of  Whiston's  comets  ? — 
To  say  nothing  of  the  Nucleus ;  that  is,  of  Obadiah 
and  the  coach-horse. — In  my  idea,  the  vortex  alone  of 
them  was  enough  to  have  involved  and  carried,  if  not 
the  doctor,  at  least  the  doctor's  pony,  quite  away  with 
it.  What  then  do  you  think  must  the  terror  and 


46  THE  STOEY  OJ1 

hydrophobia  of  Dr.  Slop  have  been,  when  you  read 
(which  you  are  just  going  to  do)  that  he  was  advanc- 
ing thus  warily  along  towards  Shandy  Hall,  and  had 
approached  to  within  sixty  yards  of  it,  and  within 
five  yards  of  a  sudden  turn,  made  by  an  acute  angle 
of  the  garden  wall, — and  in  the  dirtiest  part  of  a 
dirty  lane, — when  Obadiah  and  his  coach-horse  turned 
the  corner,  rapid,  furious, — pop,— full  upon  him  ! — 
Nothing,  I  think,  in  nature,  can  be  supposed  more 
terrible  than  such  a  rencounter, — so  imprompt !  so  ill 
prepared  to  stand  the  shock  of  it  as  Dr.  Slop  was  ! 

What  could  Dr.  Slop  do  ! — He  crossed  himself  •%• — 
Pugh  ! — but  the  doctor,  sir,  was  a  Papist. — No  matter ; 
he  had  better  have  kept  hold  of  the  pummel. — He 
had  so  ; — nay,  as  it  happened,  he  had  better  have 
done  nothing  at  all ; — for  in  crossing  himself  he  let  go 
his  whip, — and  in  attempting  to  save  his  whip  be- 
twixt his  knee  and  his  saddle's  skirt,  as  it  slipped, 
he  lost  his  stirrup, — in  losing  which  he  lost  his 
seat ;  —  and  in  the  multitude  of  all  these  losses 
the  unfortunate  doctor  lost  his  presence  of  mind.  So 
that,  without  waiting  for  Obadiah's  onset,  he  left  his 
pony  to  its  destiny,  tumbling  off  it  diagonally,  some- 
thing in  the  style  and  manner  of  a  pack  of  wool,  and 
without  any  other  consequence  from  the  fall,  save  that 
of  being  left  (as  it  would  have  been)  with  the  broadest 
part  of  him  sunk  about  twelve  inches  deep  in  the 
mire. 

Obadiah  pulled  off  his  cap  twice  to  Dr.  Slop  ; — once 
as  he  was  falling,— and  then  again  when  he  saw  him 
seated — Ill-timed  complaisance  ; — had  not  the  fellow 
better  have  stopped  his  horse,  and  got  off  and  helped 
him  1 — Sir,  he  did  all  that  his  situation  would  allow  ; 
but  the  momentum  of  the  coach-horse  was  so  great, 
that  Obadiah  could  not  do  it  all  at  once  ; — he  rode  in 
a  circle  three  times  round  Dr.  Slop,  before  he  could 
fully  accomplish  it  anyhow  ; — and  at  the  last,  when 
he  did  stop  his  beast,  'twas  done  with  such  an  explo- 


MY  UNCLE  TOST.  47 

sion  of  mud,  that  Obadiali  had  better  have  been  a 
league  off. 

When  Dr.  Slop  entered  the  back-parlour,  where  my 
father  and  my  uncle  Toby  were  discoursing  upon  the 
nature  of  women, — it  was  hard  to  determine  whether 
Dr.  Slop's  figure,  or  Dr.  Slop's  presence,  occasioned  more 
surprise  to  them  ;  for,  as  the  accident  happened  so 
near  the  house,  as  not  to  make  it  worth  while  for 
Obadiah  to  remount  him, — Obadiah  had  led  him  in  as 
he  was,  unwiped,  unappointed,  unaneled,  with  all 
his  stains  and  blotches  on  him.  He  stood  like  Ham- 
let's ghost,  motionless  and  speechless,  for  a  full  minute 
and  a  half,  at  the  parlour  door  (Obadiah  still  holding 
his  hand)  with  all  the  majesty  of  mud.  His  hinder 
parts,  upon  which  he  had  received  his  fall,  totally 
besmeared, — and  in  every  other  part  of  him,  blotched 
over  in  such  a  manner  with  Obadiah's  explosion,  that 
you  would  have  sworn  (without  mental  reservation) 
that  every  grain  of  it  had  taken  effect. 

Dr.  Slop's  presence,  at  that  time,  was  no  less  prob- 
lematical than  the  mode  of  it ;  though,  it  is  certain, 
one  moment's  reflection  in  my  father  might  have  solved 
it  ;  for  he  had  apprised  Dr.  Slop  but  the  week  before, 
that  my  mother  was  at  her  full  reckoning  ;  and  as  the 
doctor  had  heard  nothing  since,  'twas  natural  and 
very  political  too  in  him,  to  have  taken  a  ride  to 
Shandy  Hall,  as  he  did,  merely  to  see  how  matters 
went  on. 

But  my  father's  mind  took  unfortunately  a  wrong 
turn  in  the  investigation  ;  running  like  the  hyper- 
critic's  altogether  upon  the  ringing  of  the  bell  and  the 
rap  upon  the  door, — measuring  their  distance,— and 
keeping  his  mind  so  intent  upon  the  operation,  as  to 
have  power  to  think  of  nothing  elser — commonplace 
infirmity  of  the  greatest  mathematicians  !  working 
with  might  and  main  at  the  demonstration,  and  so 
wasting  all  their  strength  upon  it,  that  they  have 
none  left  in  them  to  draw  the  corollary,  to  do  good  with. 


48  THE  STOUT  OF 

The  ringing  of  the  bell,  and  the  rap  upon  the  door, 
struck  likewise  strong  upon  the  sensorium  of  my 
uncle  Toby,— but  it  excited  a  very  different  train  of 
thoughts  ; — the  two  irreconcilable  pulsations  instantly 
brought  Stevinus,  the  great  engineer,  along  with  them, 
into  my  uncle  Toby's  mind.  What  business  Stevinus 
had  in  this  affair, — is  the  greatest  problem  of  all : — 
It  shall  be  solved. 

Let  the  reader  imagine  then,  that  Dr.  Slop  has  told 
his  tale  ;— and  in  what  words,  and  with  what  aggra- 
vations, his  fancy  chooses  :  let  him  suppose  that 
Obadiah  has  told  his  tale  also,  and  with  such  rueful 
looks  of  affected  concern,  as  he  thinks  will  best  con- 
trast the  two  figures  as  they  stand  by  each  other.  Let 
him  imagine  that  my  father  has  stepped  up  stairs  to 
see  my  mother.  And,  to  conclude  this  work  of  imagin- 
ation—let him  imagine  the  doctor  washed, — rubbed 
down, — and  condoled  with,— felicitated, — got  into  a 
pair  of  Obadiah's  pumps. 

Your  sudden  and  unexpected  arrival,  quoth  my 
uncle  Toby,  addressing  himself  to  Dr.  Slop  (all  three 
of  them  sitting  down  to  the  fire  together,  as  my  uncle 
Toby  began  to  speak), — instantly  brought  the  great 
Stevinus  into  my  head,  who,  you  must  know,  is  a 
favourite  author  with  me. — Then,  added  my  father, 
making  use  of  the  argument  ad  crumenam, — I  will 
lay  twenty  guineas  to  a  single  crown  piece,  that  this 
same  Stevinus  was  some  engineer  or  other, — or  has 
wrote  something  or  other,  either  directly  or  indirectly, 
upon  the  science  of  fortification. 

He  has  so, — replied  my  uncle  Toby. — I  knew  it, 
said  my  father  ; — though,  for  the  soul  of  me,  I  cannot 
see  what  kind  of  connexion  there  can  be  betwixt  Dr. 
Slop's  sudden  coming,  and  a  discourse  upon  fortifi- 
cations ; — yet  I  feared  it. — Talk  of  what  we  will, 
brother, — or  let  the  occasion  be  never  so  foreign  or 
unfit  for  the  subject, — you  are  sure  to  bring  it  in  :  I 
would  not,  brother  Toby,  continued  my  father, — I 


KT  UNCLE  TOBY.  49 

declare  I  would  not  have  my  head  so  full  of  curtains 
and  horn-works. — That,  I  daresay,  you  would  not,  quoth 
Dr.  Slop,  interrupting  him,  and  laughing  most  im- 
moderately at  his  pun. 

Sir,  quoth  my  uncle  Toby,  the  curtains  my  brother 
Shandy  mentions  here,,  have  nothing  to  do  with  bed- 
steads ; — though  I  know  Ducange  says,  "  That  bed- 
curtains,  in  all  probability,  have  taken  their  name 
from  them  ; — as  for  the  horn- works, — (high!  ho  !  sighed 
my  father) — which,  continued  my  uncle  Toby,  my 
brother  was  speaking  of,  they  are  called  by  the  French 
engineers  "outrage  a  comes:"  'tis  formed  by  two  epaule- 
ments  or  demi-bastions — they  are  very  pretty,  andif  you 
will  take  a  walk,  I'll  engage  to  show  you  one  well  worth 
your  trouble. — I  own,  continued  my  uncle  Toby,  when 
we  crown  them, — they  are  much  stronger,  but  then 
they  are  very  expensive,  and  take  up  a  great  deal  of 
ground,  so  that,  in  my  opinion,  they  are  most  of  use 
to  cover  or  defend  the  head  of  a  camp  ;  otherwise  the 
double  tenaille — By  the  mother  who  bore  us  ! — 
brother  Toby,  quoth  my  father,  not  able  to  hold  out 
any  longer, — you  would  provoke  a  saint ; — here  have 
you  got  us,  I  know  not  how,  not  only  souse  into  the 
middle  of  the  old  subject  again  : — but  so  full  is  your 
head  of  these  confounded  works,  that  though  my  wife  is 
at  this  moment  in  the  pains  of  labour, — and  you  hear 
her  cry  out,  yet  nothing  will  serve  you  but  to  carry  off 
the  man -midwife. — Accoucheur, — if  you  please,  quoth 
Dr.  Slop. — With  all  my  heart,  replied  my  father,  I 
don't  care  what  they  call  you, — but  I  wish  the  whole 
science  of  fortification,  with  all  its  inventors,  at  the 
devil- — it  has  been  the  death  of  thousands, — and 
it  will  be  mine  in  the  end. — I  would  not,  I  would  not, 
brother  Toby,  have  my  brains  so  full  of  saps,  mines, 
blinds,  gabions,  palisados,  ravelins,  half-moons,  and 
such  trumpery,  to  be  proprietor  of  Namur,  and  of  all 
the  towns  in  Flanders  with  it. 

My  uncle  Toby  was  a  man  patient  of  injuries  ; — not 

4 


50  THE  STOEY  OF 

from  want  of  courage, — I  have  told  you  in  the  fifth 
chapter  of  this  second  book,  "  that  he  was  a  man  of 
courage :" — and  will  add  here,  that  where  just  occa- 
sions presented,  or  called  it  forth,  I  know  no  man 
under  whose  arm  I  would  sooner  have  taken  shelter  ; 
nor  did  this  arise  from  any  insensibility  or  obtuseness 
of  his  intellectual  parts  ; — for  he  felt  this  insult  of  my 
father's  as  feelingly  as  a  man  could  do  ; — but  he  was 
of  a  peaceful,  placid  nature, — no  jarring  element  in  it, 
— all  was  mixed  up  so  kindly  -syithin  him ;  my  uncle 
Toby  had  scarce  a  heart  to  retaliate  upon  a  fly. 

— Goy-says  he,  one  day  at  dinner,  to  an  overgrown 
one,  which  had  buzzed  about  his  nose,  and  tormented 
him  cruelly  all  dinner  time, — and  which,  after  infinite 


chair  and  going  across  the  room,  with  the  fly  in  his 
hand, — I'll  not  hurt  a  hair  of  thy  nead  : — Go.  says  he, 
lifting  up  the  sash,  and  opening  his  hand  as  ne  spoke, 
to  let  it  escape ; — go,  poor  devil,  get  thee  gone  ;  why 
should  I  hurt  thee  ] — This  world  surely  is  wide  enough 
to  hold  both  thee  and  me. 

I  was  but  ten  years  old  when  this  happened  ; — but 
whether  it  was,  that  the  action  itself  was  more  in 
unison  with  my  nerves  at  that  age  of  pity,  which 
instantly  set  my  whole  frame  into  one  vibration  of 
most  pleasurable  sensation ;  or  how  far  the  manner 
and  expression  of  it  might  go  towards  it ; — or  in  what 
degree,  or  by  what  secret  magic,  a  tone  of  voice  and 
harmony  of  movement,  attuned  by  mercy,  might  find 
a  passage  to  my  heart,  I  know  not ; — this  I  know, 
that  the  lesson  of  universal  goodwill  then  taught  and 
imprinted  by  my  uncle  Toby,  has  never  since  been 
worn  put  of  my  mind :  and  though  I  would  not 
depreciate  what  the  study  of  the  literce  humaniores, 
at  the  university,  has  done  for  me  in  that  respect,  or 
discredit  the  other  helps  of  an  expensive  education 
bestowed  upon  me,  both  at  home  and  abroad  since  • — 


MY  UNCLE  TOST.  51 

yet  I  often  think  that  I  owe  one  half  of  my  philan- 
thropy to  that  one  accidental  impression. 

My  father,  in  this  patient  endurance  of  wrongs, 
which  I  mention,  was  very  different,  as  the  reader 
must  long  ago  have  noted  ;  he  had  a  much  more 
acute  and  quick  sensibility  of  nature,  attended  with 
a  little  soreness  of  temper  ;  though  this  never  trans- 
ported him  to  anything  which  looked  like  malignity  ; 
— yet,  in  the  little  rubs  and  vexations  of  life,  'twas 
apt  to  show  itself  in  drollish  and  witty  kind  of 
peevishness  : — he  was,  however,  frank  and  generous 
in  his  nature ; — at  all  times  open  to  conviction  ;  and 
in  the  little  ebullitions  of  this  sub-acid  humour 
towards  others,  but  particularly  towards  my  uncle 
Toby,  whom  he  truly  loved  ; — he  would  feel  more 
pain,  ten  times  told  (except  in  the  affair  of  my  aunt 
Dinah,  or  where  an  hypothesis  was  concerned)  than 
what  he  ever  gave. 

The  characters  of  the  two  brothers,  in  this  view  of 
them,  reflected  light  upon  each  other,  and  appeared 
with  great  advantage  in  this  affair  which  arose  about 
Stevinus. 

I  need  not  tell  the  reader,  if  he  keep  a  hobby- 
horse,— that  a  man's  hobby-horse  is  as  tender  a  part 
as  he  has  about  him ;  and  that  these  unprovoked 
strokes  at  my  uncle  Toby's  could  not  be  unfelt  by 
him. — No  • — as  I  said  above,  my  uncle  Toby  did  feel 
them,  and  very  sensibly  too ;  for  as  soon  as  my 
father  had  done  insulting  his  hobby-horse, — he  turned 
his  head,  without  the  least  emotion,  from  Dr.  Slop,  to 
whom  he  was  addressing  his  discourse,  and  looked  up 
into  my  father's  face,  with  a  countenance  spread  over 
with  so  much  good-nature  ; — so  placid  ; — so  frater- 
nal ; — so  inexpressibly  tender  towards  him  ; — it  pene- 
trated my  father  to  his  heart ;  he  rose  up  hastily  from 
his  chair,  and  seizing  hold  of  both  my  uncle  Toby's 
hands  as  he  spoke : — brother  Toby,  said  he, — I  beg 
thy  pardon ;— forgive,  I  pray  thee,  this  rash  humour 

4—2 


52  THE  STOKY  OF 

which  iny  mother  gave  rue. — My  dear,  dear  brother, 
answered  uncle  Toby,  rising  up  with  my  father's  help, 
say  no  more  about  it ; — you  are  heartily  welcome,  had 
it  been  ten  times  as  much,  brother.  But  'tis  ungene- 
rous, replied  my  father,  to  hurt  any  man  ; — a  brother 
worse  ; — but  to  hurt  a  brother  of  such  gentle  manners, 
— so  unprovoking, — and  so  unresenting  : — 'tis  base , — 
By  heaven,  'tis  cowardly. — You  are  heartily  welcome, 
brother,  quoth  my  uncle  Toby,— had  it  been  fifty  times 
as  much. — Besides,  what  have  I  to  do,  my  dear  Toby, 
cried  my  father,  either  with  your  amusements  or  your 
pleasures,  unless  it  was  in  my  power  (which  it  is  not) 
to  increase  their  measure  1 

As  my  father  spoke  the  last  words,— he  sat  down  ;— 
my  uncle  Toby  exactly  followed  his  example,  only 
that,  before  he  took  his  chair,  he  rang  the  bell,  to 
order  Corporal  Trim,  who  was  in  waiting,  to  step 
home  for  Stevinus  ; — my  uncle  Toby's  house  being  no 


Some  men  would  have  dropped  the  subject  of 
Stevinus ; — but  my  uncle  Toby  had  no  resentment  in 
his  heart,  and  he  went  on  with  the  subject,  to  show 
my  father  that  he  had  none. 

Your  sudden  appearance,  Dr.  Slop,  quoth  my  uncle, 
resuming  the  discourse,  instantly  brought  Stevinus 
into  my  head.  [My  father,  you  maybe  sure,  did  not 
offer  to  lay  any  more  wagers  upon  Stevinus's  head] — 
Because,  continued  my  uncle  Toby,  the  celebrated 
sailing  chariot,  which  belonged  to  Prince  Maurice, 
and  was  of  such  wonderful  contrivance  and  velocity 
as  to  carry  half-a-dozen  people  thirty  German  miles, 
in  I  don't  know  how  few  minutes, — was  invented 
by  Stevinus,  that  great  mathematician  and  en- 
gineer. 

You  might  have  spared  your  servant  the  trouble, 
quoth  Dr.  Slop  (as  the  fellow  is  lame),  of  going  for 
Stevinus's  account  of  it,  because  in  my  return  from 
Leyden,  through  the  Hague,  I  walked  as  far  as  Schev- 


MY  UNCLE  TOST.  53 

ling,  which  is  two  long  miles,  on  purpose  to  take  a 
view  of  it. 

That's  nothing,  replied  my  uncle  Toby,  to  what  the 
learned  Peireskius  did,  who  walked  a  matter  of  five 
hundred  miles,  reckoning  from  Paris  to  Schevling, 
and  from  Schevling  to  Paris  back  again,  in  order  to 
see  it — and  nothing  else. 

Some  men  cannot  bear  to  be  out-gone.  The  more 
fool  Peireskius,  replied  Dr.  Slop.  But  mark,  'twas  out 
of  no  contempt  of  Peireskius  at  all — but  that  Peires- 
kius's  indefatigable  labour,  in  trudging  so  far  on  foot 
out  of  love  for  the  sciences,  reduced  the  exploit  of  Dr. 
Slop,  in  that  affair,  to  nothing. — The  more  fool  Pei- 
reskius, said  he  again... Why  sol — replied  my  father, 
taking  his  brother's  part,  not  only  to  make  reparation 
as  fast  as  he  could  for  the  insult  he  had  given  him, 
which  still  sat  upon  my  father's  mind;— but  partly 
that  my  father  began  really  to  interest  himself  in  the 
discourse  : — Why  so  1 — said  he.  Why  is  Peireskius,  or 
any  man  else,  to  be  abused  for  an  appetite  for  that,  or 
any  other  morsel  of  sound  knowledge ;  for,  notwith- 
standing I  know  nothing  of  the  chariot  in  question, 
continued  he,  the  inventor  of  it  must  have  had  a  very 
mechanical  head ;  and  though  I  cannot  guess  upon 
what  principles  of  philosophy  he  has  achieved  it — yet 
certainly  his  machine  has  been  constructed  upon  solid 
ones,  be  they  what  they  will,  or  it  could  not  have 
answered  at  the  rate  my  brother  mentions. 

It  answered,  replied  my  uncle  Toby,  as  well,  if  not 
better ;  for,  as  Peireskius  elegantly  expresses  it, 
speaking  of  the  velocity  of  its  motion,  Tarn  citus  erat 
quam  erat  ventus ;  which,  unless  I  have  forgot  my 
Latin,  is,  that  it  was  as  swift  as  the  wind  itself. 

But  pray,  Dr.  Slop,  quoth  my  father,  interrupting 
my  uncle  (though  not  without  begging  pardon  for  it), 
upon  what  principles  was  this  self-same  chariot  set  a- 
going  1  Upon  very  pretty  principles,  to  be  sure,  re- 
plied Dr.  Slop  ; — and  I  have  often  wondered,  con- 


54  THE  STORY  OF 

tinued  he,  evading  the  question,  why  none  of  our 
gentry,  who  live  upon  large  plains  like  this  of  ours — 
attempt  nothing  of  this  kind  ;  for  it  would  be  excel- 
lent good  husbandry  to  make  use  of  the  winds,  which 
cost  nothing,  and  which  eat  nothing,  rather  than 
horses,  which  (the  devil  take  Jem)  both  cost  and  eat  a 
great  deal. 

For  that  very  reason,  replied  my  father,  "  Because 
they  cost  nothing,  and  because  they  eat  nothing,"— 
the  scheme  is  bad  ; — it  is  the  consumption  of  our  pro- 
ducts, as  well  as  the  manufacture  of  them,  which 
gives  bread  to  the  hungry, — circulates  trade,  brings  in 
money,  and  supports  the  value  of  our  lands : — and 
though  I  own  if  I  was  a  Prince,  I  would  generously 
recompense  the  scientific  head  which  brought  forth 
such  contrivances  ; — yet  I  would  as  peremptorily  sup- 
press the  use  of  them. 

My  father  here  had  got  into  his  element, — and  was 
going  on  as  prosperously  with  his  dissertation  upon 
trade  as  my  uncle  Toby  had  before  upon  his  of  for- 
tification ; — but,  to  the  loss  of  much  sound  knowledge, 
the  destinies  in  the  morning  had  decreed  that  no  dis- 
sertation of  any  kind  should  be  spun  by  my  father 
that  day  ;...for,  as  he  opened  his  mouth  to  begin  the 
next  sentence, 


In  popped  Corporal  Trim  with  Stevinus — but  it  was 
too  late  :— all  the  discourse  had  been  exhausted  with- 
out him,  and  was  running  into  a  new  channel. 

— You  may  take  the  book  home  again,  Trim,  said 
my  uncle  Toby,  nodding  to  him. 

But  pri'thee,  Corporal,  quoth  my  father,  drolling, — 
look  first  into  it,  and  see  if  thou  can'st  spy  aught  of  a 
sailing  chariot  in  it. 

Corporal  Trim,  by  being  in  the  service,  had  learned 
to  obey — and  not  to  remonstrate ; — so  taking  the 
book  to  a  side-table,  and  running  over  the  leaves : . . . 


MY  UNCLE  TOBY.  55 

An'  please  your  honour,  said  Trim,  I  can  see  no  such 
thing ; — however,  continued  the  Corporal,  drolling  a 
little  in  his  turn,  I'll  make  sure  work  of  it,  an'  please 
your  honour ; — so  taking  hold  of  the  two  covers  of 
the  book,  one  in  each  hand,  and  letting  the  leaves  fall 
down,  as  he  bent  the  covers  back,  he  gave  the  book  a 
good  sound  shake. 

There  is  something  fallen  out,  however,  said  Trim, 
an'  please  your  honour ; — but  it  is  not  a  chariot,  or 
anything  like  one...Pri'thee,  Corporal,  said  my  father, 
smiling,  what  is  it  then  1 — I  think,  answered  Trim, 
stooping  to  take  it  up, — 'tis  more  like  a  sermon, — for 
it  begins  with  a  text  of  scripture,  and  the  chapter  and 
verse  ; — and  then  goes  on,  not  as  a  chariot,  but  like  a 
sermon  directly. 

The  company  smiled. 

I  cannot  conceive  how  it  is  possible,  quoth  my  uncle 
Toby,  for  such  a  thing  as  a  sermon  to  have  got  into 
my  Stevinus. 

I  think  'tis  a  sermon,  replied  Trim  ;  but  if  it  please 
your  honours,  as  it  is  a  fair  hand,  I  will  read  you  a 
page  ; — for  Trim,  you  must  know,  loved  to  hear  him- 
self read  almost  as  well  as  talk. 

I  have  ever  a  strong  propensity,  said  my  father,  to 
look  into  things  which  cross  my  way,  by  such  strange 
fatalities  as  these  ;— and  as  we  have  nothing  better  to 
do,  I  should  be  obliged  to  you,  brother,  if  Dr.  Slop 
has  no  objection  to  it,  to  order  the  corporal  to  give  us 
a  page  or  two  of  it, — if  he  is  as  able  to  do  it  as  he  is 
willing.  An'  please  your  honour,  quoth  Trim,  I 
officiated  two  whole  campaigns,  in  Flanders,  as  clerk 
to  the  chaplain  of  the  regiment. — He  can  read  it, 
quoth  my  uncle  Toby,  as  well  as  I  can. — Trim,  I  assure 
you,  was  the  best  scholar  in  my  company,  and  should 
have  had  the  next  halberd,  but  for  the  poor  fellow's 
misfortune.  Corporal  Trim  laid  his  hand  upon  his 
heart,  and  made  an  humble  bow  to  his  master  ; — then 
laying  down  his  hat  upon  the  floor,  arid  taking  up  the 


56  MY  UNCLE  TOST. 

sermon  in  his  left  hand,  in  order  to  have  his  right  at 
liberty, — he  advanced,  nothing  doubting,  into  the 
middle  of  the  room,  where  he  could  best  see,  and  be 
best  seen  by  his  audience. 

—If  you  have  any  objection, — said  my  father,  ad- 
dressing himself  to  Dr.  Slop.  Not  in  the  least, 
replied  Dr.  Slop  ; — for  it  does  not  appear  on  which 
side  of  the  question  it  is  wrote  ; — it  may  be  a  com- 
position of  a  divine  of  pur  church,  as  well  as  yours, 
— so  that  we  run  equal  risks.  'Tis  wrote  upon  neither 
side,  quoth  Trim,  for  'tis  only  upon  conscience,  an' 
please  your  honours. 

Trim's  reason  put  his  audience  into  good  humour, — 
all  but  Dr.  Slop,  who  turning  his  head  about  towards 
Trim,  looked  a  little  angry. 

Begin,  Trim, — and  read  distinctly,  quoth  my  father. 
I  will,  an'  please  your  honour,  replied  the  corporal, 
making  a  bow,  and  bespeaking  attention  with  a  slight 
movement  of  his  right  hand. 


CHAPTER  V. 


TRIM  S      SERMON. 
"  For  we  trust  we  have  a  good  Conscience." — HEBEEWS  xiii.  18. 

||  R  U  S  T  !  —  Trust   we   have   a    good   con- 
I  science  !" 

[Certainly,  Trim,  quoth  my  father,  inter- 
I  rupting  him,  you  give  that  sentence  a  very 
improper  accent ;  for  you  curl  up  your  nose,  man,  and 
read  it  with  such  a  sneering  tone,  as  if  the  parson  was 
going  to  abuse  the  Apostle. 

He  is,  an'  please  your  honour,  replied  Trim.  Pugh  ! 
said  my  father,  smiling. 

Sir,  quoth  Dr.  Slop,  Trim  is  certainly  in  the  right ; 
for  the  writer  (who  I  perceive  is  a  Protestant)  by  the 
snappish  manner  in  which  he  takes  up  the  Apostle,  is 
certainly  going  to  abuse  him, — if  this  treatment  of 
him  has  not  done  it  already.  But  from  whence,  re- 
plied my  father,  have  you  concluded  so  soon,  Dr.  Slop, 
that  the  writer  is  of  our  church  ? — for  aught  I  can  see 
yet, — he  may  be  of  any  church.  Because,  answered 
Dr.  Slop,  if  he  was  of  ours, — he  durst  no  more  take 
such  a  license, — than  a  bear  by  his  beard.  If  in  our 
communion,  sir,  a  man  was  to  insult  an  Apostle, — or 
a  saint, — he  would  have  an  old  house  over  his  head. 
Pray  is  the  Inquisition  an  ancient  building,  answered 
my  uncle  Toby,  or  is  it  a  modern  one? — I  know 


58  THE  STORY  OF 

nothing  of  architecture,  replied  Dr.  Slop.— An7  please 
your  honours,  quoth  Trim,  the  Inquisition  is  the  vilest 
— Prithee  spare  thy  description,  Trim,  I  hate  the  very 
name  of  it,  said  my  father. — No  matter  for  that,  said 
Dr.  Slop, — it  has  its  uses  ;  for  though  I'm  no  great 
advocate  for  it,  yet,  in  such  a  case  as  this,  he  would 
soon  be  taught  better  manners ;  and  I  can  tell  him, 
if  he  went  on  at  that  rate,  would  be  flung  into  the 
Inquisition  for  his  pains.  God  help  him  then,  quoth 
my  uncle  Toby.  Amen,  added  Trim;  for  heaven 
above  knows,  I  have  a  poor  brother  who  has  been 
fourteen  years  a  captive  in  it. — 

Come  Trim,  quoth  my  father,  after  he  saw  the  poor 
fellow's  grief  had  got  a  little  vent, — read  on, — and  put 
this  melancholy  story  out  of  thy  head  : — I  grieve  that 
I  interrupted  thee ; — but  prithee  begin  the  sermon 
again, — for  if  the  first  sentence  in  it  is  matter  of 
abuse,  as  thou  sayest,  I  have  a  great  desire  to  know 
what  kind  of  provocation  the  Apostle  has  given. 

[Corporal  Trim  wiped  his  face,  and  returned  his 
handkerchief  into  his  pocket,  and  making  a  bow  as 
he  did  it, — he  began  again.] 

"  Trust ! — Trust  we  have  a  good  conscience  !  Surely 
if  there  is  anything  in  this  life  which  a  man  may 
depend  upon,  and  to  the  knowledge  of  which  he  is 
capable  of  arriving  upon  the  most  indisputable  evi- 
dence, it  must  be  this  very  thing, — whether  he  has  a 
good  conscience  or  no.  In  other  matters  we  may  be 
deceived  by.  false  appearances  ;  but  here  the  mind  has 
all  the  evidence  and  facts  within  herself  ; — is  conscious 
of  the  exact  share  which  every  passion  has  had  in 
working  upon  the  several  designs  which  virtue  or  vice 
has  planned  before  her." 

[The  language  is  good,  and  I  declare  Trim  reads 
very  well,  quoth  my  father.] 

"  I  own,  in  one  case,  whenever  a  man's  conscience 
does  accuse  him  (as  it  seldom  errs  on  that  side)  that 
he  is  guilty ;  and  unless  in  melancholy  and  hypochon- 


MY  UNCLE  TOBY.  59 

driac  cases,  we  may  safely  pronounce  upon  it,  that 
there  is  always  sufficient  grounds  for  the  accusation. 

"  But  the  converse  of  the  proposition  will  not  hold 
true  ; — namely,  that  whenever  there  is  guilt,  the  con- 
science must  accuse  ;  and  if  it  does  not,  that  a  man  is 
therefore  innocent. — This  is  not  fact : — So  that  the 
common  consolation  which  some  good  Christian  or 
other  is  hourly  administering  to  himself, — that  he 
thanks  God  his  mind  does  not  misgive  him  ;  and  that, 
consequently,  he  has  a  good  conscience,  because  he 
hath  a  quiet  one,— is  fallacious  ;  and  as  current  as  the 
inference  is,  and  as  infallible  as  the  rule  appears  at 
first  sight,  yet  when  you  look  nearer  to  it,  and  try  the 
truth  of  this  rule  upon  plain  facts, — you  see  it  liable 
to  so  much  error  from  a  false  application  ; — the  princi- 
ple upon  which  it  goes  so  often  perverted  ; — the  whole 
force  of  it  lost,  and  sometimes  so  vilely  cast  away, 
that  it  is  painful  to  produce  the  common  examples 
from  human  life  which  confirm  the  account. 

"  A  man  shall  be  vicious  and  utterly  debauched  in 
his  principles  ; — exceptionable  in  his  conduct  to  the 
world ;  shall  live  shameless,  in  the  open  commission 
of  a  sin  which  no  reason  or  pretence  can  justify ; — a 
sin  by  which,  contrary  to  all  the  workings  of  humanity, 
he  shall  rule  for  ever  the  deluded  partner  of  his  guilt ; 
— rob  her  of  her  best  dowry  ;  and  not  only  cover  her 
own  head  with  dishonour,  —  but  involve  a  whole 
virtuous  family  in  shame  and  sorrow  for  her  sake. — 
Surely  you  will  think  conscience  must  lead  such  a 
man  a -troublesome  life  ; — he  can  have  no  rest  night 
or  day  from  its  reproaches. 

"  Alas !  conscience  had  something  else  to  do,  all 
this  time,  than  break  in  upon  him  ;  as  Elijah  re- 
proached the  God  Baal, — this  domestic  god  was  either 
talking,  or  pursuing,  or  was  in  a  journey,  or  peradven- 
ture  he  slept  and  could  not  be  awoke. 

"  Perhaps  he  was  gone  out  in  company  with  honour 
to  fight  a  duel ;  to  pay  off  some  debt  at  play ; — or 


60  THE  STORY  OF 

dirty  annuity :  perhaps  conscience  all  this  time  was 
engaged  at  home,  talking  loud  against  petty  larceny, 
and  executing  vengeance  upon  some  such  puny  crimes 
as  his  fortune  and  rank  in  life  secured  him  against  all 
temptation  of  committing  ;  so  that  he  lives  as 
merrily" — [If  he  was  of  our  church  though,  quoth 
Dr.  Slop,  he  could  not] — "sleeps  as  soundly  in  his 
bed  ; — and  at  last  meets  death  as  unconcernedly  ; 
perhaps  much  more  so  than  a  much  better  man. 

"  Another  is  sordid,  unmerciful,  [here  Trim  waved 
his  right  hand],  a  strait-hearted,  selfish  wretch,  inca- 
pable either  of  private  friendship  or  of  public  spirit. 
Take  notice  how  he  passes  by  the  widow  and  orphan 
in  their  distress,  and  sees  all  the  miseries  incident  to 
human  life  without  a  sigh  or  a  prayer.  [An'  please 
your  honours,  cried  Trim,  I  think  this  a  \iler  man 
than  the  others.] 

"  Shall  not  conscience  rise  up  and  sting  him  on  such 
occasions  ? — No  ;  thank  God,  there  is  no  occasion  : 
/  pay  every  man  his  own  ; — /  liave  no  fornication  to 
answer  to  my  conscience  ;  no  faithless  vows  or  promises 
to  make  up ;  I  thank  God,  I  am  not  as  other  men, 
adulterers,  unjust,  or  even  as  this  libertine,  ivJio  stands 
before  me. 

"A  third  is  crafty  and  designing  in  his  nature.  View 
his  whole  life  ;  'tis  nothing  but  a  cunning  contexture 
of  dark  arts  and  unequitable  subterfuges,  basely  to 
defeat  the  true  intent  of  all  laws, — plain  dealing,  and 
the  safe  enjoyment  of  our  several  properties. — You 
will  see  such  an  one  working  out  a  frame  of  little 
designs  upon  the  ignorance  and  perplexities  of  the 
poor  and  needy  man  ; — shall  raise  a  fortune  upon  the 
inexperience  of  a  youth,  or  the  unsuspecting  temper 
of  his  friend,  who  would  have  trusted  him  with  his  life. 

"  When  old  age  comes  on,  and  repentance  calls  him 
to  look  back  upon  his  black  account,  and  state  it  over 
again  with  his  conscience, — Conscience  looks  into  the 
statutes  at  large ; — finds  no  express  law  broken  by 


MY  UNCLE  TOST.  61 

what  lie  has  done ; — perceives  no  penalty  or  forfeiture 
of  goods  and  chattels  incurred ;  — sees  no  scourge 
waving  over  his  head,  or  prison  opening  his  gates 
upon  him  : — What  is  there  to  affright  his  conscience  1 
Conscience  has  got  safely  entrenched  behind  the  letter 
of  the  law ;  sits  there  invulnerable,  fortified  with 
Cas£3  and  IgUporte  so  strongly  on  all  sides  ; — that  it 
is  not  preaching  can  dispossess  it  of  its  hold." 

[Here  Corporal  Trim  and  my  uncle  Toby  exchanged 
looks  with  each  other. — Ay, — ay,  Trim  !  quoth  my 
uncle  Toby,  shaking  his  head, — these  are  but  sorry 
fortifications,  Trim.— Oh !  very  poor  work,  answered 
Trim,  to  what  your  honour  and  I  make  of  it. — The 
character  of  this  last  man,  said  Dr.  Slop,  interrupting 
Trim,  is  more  detestable  than  all  the  rest. — Go  on, 
Trim,  quoth  my  father. — 'Tis  a  very  short  sermon, 
replied  Trim. — I  wish  it  was  longer,  quoth  my  uncle 

Toby,  for  I  like  it  hugely. — Trim  went  on."] 

*  #  *  *  *  *  * 

"  Blessed  is  the  man,  indeed,  as  the  author  of  the 
book  of  Ecclesiasticus  expresses  it,  who  is  not  pricked 
with  the  multitude  of  his  sins  ;  blessed  is  the  man 
whose  heart  hath  not  condemned  him  ;  whether  he 
be  rich,  or  whether  he  be  poor,  if  he  have  a  good  heart 
(a  heart  thus  guided  and  informed)  he  shall  at  all 
times  rejoice  in  a  cheerful  countenance  ;  his  mind 
shall  tell  him  more  than  seven  watchmen  that  sit 
above  upon  atower  on  high." — [A tower  has  no  strength, 
quoth  my  uncle  Toby,  unless  'tis  flanked.] — "  In  the 
darkest  doubts  it  shall  conduct  him  safer  than  a 
thousand  casuists,  and  give  the  state  he  lives  in  a 
better  security  for  his  behaviour  than  all  the  clauses 
and  restrictions  put  together,  which  law-makers  are 
forced  to  multiply." 

I  like  the  reasoning,  said  my  father,  and  am  sorry 
that  Dr.  Slop  has  fallen  asleep  before  the  time  of  his 
conviction  ; — for  it  is  now  clear  that  the  parson,  as  I 
thought  at  first,  never  insulted  St,  Paul  in  the  least ;— 


62  THE  STOEY  OF 

nor  has  there  been,  brother,  the  least  difference  be- 
tween them. — A  great  matter,  if  they  had  differed, 
replied  my  uncle  Toby, — the  best  friends  in  the  world 
may  differ  sometimes. — True, — brother  Toby,  quoth 
my  father,  shaking  hands  with  him, — we'll  fill  our  pipes, 
brother,  and  then  Trim  shall  go  on. 

Well, — what  dost  thou  think  of  it  ?  said  my  father, 
speaking  to  Corporal  Trim,  as  he  reached  his  tobacco- 
box. 

I  think,  answered  the  Corporal,  that  the  seven 
watchmen  upon  the  tower,  who,  I  suppose,  are  all 
sentinels  there, — are  more,  an'  please  your  honour, 
than  were  necessary  ; — and,  to  go  on  at  that  rate, 
would  harass  a  regiment  all  to  pieces,  which  a  com- 
manding officer,  who  loves  his  men,  will  never  do, 
if  he  can  help  it,  because  two  sentinels,  added  the 
Corporal,  are  as  good  as  twenty. — I  have  been  a 
commanding  officer  myself  in  the  Corps  de  Garde  a 
hundred  times,  continued  Trim,  rising  an  inch  higher 
in  his  figure,  as  he  spoke, — and  all  the  time  I  had  the 
honour  to  serve  his  Majesty  King  William,  in  relieving 
the  most  considerable  posts,  I  never  left  more  than 
two  in  my  life. — Very  right,  Trim,  quoth  my  uncle 
Toby, — but  you  do  not  consider,  Trim,  that  the 
towers,  in  Solomon's  days,  were  not  such  things  as 
our  bastions,  flanked  and  defended  by  other  works ; — 
this,  Trim,  was  an  invention  since  Solomon's  death ; 
nor  had  they  horn-works,  or  ravelins  before  the 
curtain,  in  his  time ; — or  such  a  fosse*  as  we  make 
with  a  cuvette  in  the  middle  of  it,  and  with  covered 
ways  and  counterscarps  pallisadoed  along  it,  to  guard 
against  a  coup  de  main : — So  that  the  seven  men 
upon  the  tower  were  a  party,  I  dare  say,  from  the 
Corps  de  Garde,  set  there,  not  only  to  look  out,  but  to 
defend  it. — They  could  be  no  more,  an'  please  your 
honour,  than  a  corporal's  guard. — My  father  smiled 
inwardly,— but  not  outwardly ;— the  subject  being 
rather  too  serious,  considering  what  had  happened,  to 


MY  UNCLE  TOST.  63 

make  a  jest  of  :  So  putting  his  pipe  into  his  mouth, 
which  he  had  just  lighted, — he  contented  himself  with 
ordering  Trim  to  read  on. 

"  I  know  the  banker  I  deal  with,  or  the  physician  I 
usually  call  in," — [There  is  no  need,  cried  Dr.  Slop 
(waking),  to  call  in  any  physician  in  this  case] — "to 
be  neither  of  them  men  of  much  religion  :  I  hear  them 
make  a  jest  of  it  every  day,  and  treat  all  its  sanctions 
with  so  much  scorn  as  to  put  the  matter  past  doubt. 
Well ;— notwithstanding  this,  I  put  my  fortune  into 
the  hands  of  the  one  ; — and  what  is  dearer  still  to  me, 
I  trust  my  life  to  the  honest  skill  of  the  other. 

"  Now,  let  me  examine  what  is  my  reason  for  this 
great  confidence.  Why,  in  the  first  place,  I  believe 
there  is  no  probability  that  either  of  them  will  employ 
the  power  I  put  into  their  hands  to  my  disadvan- 
tage ; — I  consider  that  honesty  serves  the  purposes  of 
this  life  ; — I  know  their  success  in  the  world  depends 
upon  the  fairness  of  their  characters, — in  a  word, — I'm 
persuaded  that  they  cannot  hurt  me  without  hurting 
themselves  more. 

"  But  put  it  otherwise,  namely,  that  interest  lay,  for 
once,  on  the  other  side  ;  that  a  case  should  happen 
wherein  the  one,  without  stain  to  his  reputation,  could 
secrete  my  fortune,  and  leave  me  naked  in  the 
world ; — or  that  the  other  could  send  me  out  of  it, 
and  enjoy  an  estate,  by  my  death,  without  dishonour 
to  himself  or  his  art : — In  this  case,  what  hold  have  I 
of  either  of  them1? — Religion,  the  strongest  of  all 
motives,  is  out  of  the  question ; — interest,  the  next 
most  powerful  motive  in  the  world,  is  strongly  against 
me  :— What  have  1  left  to  cast  into  the  opposite  scale, 
to  balance  this  temptation  1— Alas  !  I  have  nothing, — 
nothing  but  what  is  lighter  than  a  bubble  : — I  must 
lie  at  the  mercy  of  Honour,  or  some  such  capricious 
principle— Straight  security  for  two  of  the  most  valu- 
able blessings — my  property  and  my  life  ! 

"  In  how  many  kingdoms  of  the  world" — [Here  Trim 


64  THE  STORY  OF 

kept  waving  his  right  hand,  from  the  sermon  to  the 
extent  of  his  arm,  returning  it  backwards  and  for- 
wards to  the  conclusion  of  the  paragraph.] 

"In  how  many  kingdoms  of  the  world  has  the 
crusading  sword  of  this  misguided  saint-errant  spared 
neither  age,  nor  merit,  nor  sex,  nor  condition  1 — and, 
as  he  fought  under  the  banners  of  a  religion  which  set 
him  loose  from  justice  and  humanity,  he  showed  none ; 
mercilessly  trampled  upon  both, — heard  neither  the 
cries  of  the  unfortunate,  nor  pitied  their  distresses  !" 

[I  have  been  in  many  a  battle,  an'  please  your 
honour,  quoth  Trim,  sighing,  but  never  in  so  melan- 
choly an  one  as  this : — I  would  not  have  drawn  a 
trigger  in  it,  against  these  poor  souls, — to  have  been 
made  a  general  officer. — Why,  what  do  you  under- 
stand of  the  affair1?  said  Dr.  Slop,  looking  towards 
Trim,  with  something  more  of  contempt  than  the 
Corporal's  honest  heart  deserved. — What  do  you 
know,  friend,  about  this  battle  you  talk  of  1 — I  know, 
replied  Trim,  that  I  never  refused  quarter  in  my  life 
to  any  man  wrhq  cried  out  for  it : — but,  to  a  woman, 
or  a  child,  continued  Trim,  before  I  \yould  level  niy 
musket  at  them,  I  would  lose  my  life  a  thousand 
times. — Here's  a  crown  for  thee,  Trim,  to  drink  with 
Obadiah  to-night,  quoth  my  uncle  Toby,  and  I'll  give 
Obadiah  another,  too. — God  bless  your  Honour,  re- 
plied Trim  •  I  had  rather  these  poor  women  and 
children  had  it. — Thou  art  an  honest  fellow,  quoth  my 
uncle  Toby. — My  father  nodded  his  head, — as  much 
as  to  say — And  so  he  is. 

But  pri'thee,  Trim,  said  my  father,  make  an  end, — 
for  I  see  thou  hast  but  a  leaf  or  two  left. 
Corporal  Trim  read  on.] 

"  I  will  add  no  farther  to  the  length  of  this  sermon, 
than  by  two  or  three  short  and  independent  rules 
deducible  from  it. 

"  First,  whenever  a  man  talks  loudly  against  reli- 
gion, always  suspect  that  it  is  not  his  reason,  but  his 


31 Y  UNCLE  TOBY.  65 

passions  which  have  got  the  better  of  his  creed.  A 
bad  life  and  a  good  belief  are  disagreeable  and  trouble- 
some neighbours,  and  where  they  separate,  depend 
upon  it,  'tis  for  no  other  cause  than  for  quietness'  sake. 

"  Secondly,  When  a  man,  thus  represented,  tells  you 
in  any  particular  instance, — that  such  a  thing  goes 
against  his  conscience, — always  believe  he  means 
exactly  the  same  thing  as  when  he  tells  you  such  a 
thing  goes  against  his  stomach ; — a  present  want  of 
appetite  being  generally  the  true  cause  of  both. 

"  In  a  word, — trust  that  man  in  nothing  who  has  not 
a  conscience  in  everything. 

"  And,  in  your  own  case,  remember  this  plain  dis- 
tinction, a  mistake  in  which  has  ruined  thousands, — 
that  your  conscience  is  not  a  law : — No,  God  and 
reason  made  the  law,  and  have  placed  conscience 
within  you  to  determine  ; — not,  like  an  Asiatic  cadi, 
according  to  the  ebbs  and  flows  of  his  own  passions, 
but  like  a  British  judge  in  this  land  of  liberty  and 
good  sense,  who  makes  no  new  law,  but  faithfully 
declares  that  law  which  he  knows  already  written." 
FINIS. 

Thou  hast  read  the  sermon  extremely  well,  Trim, 
quoth  my  father. — If  he  had  spared  his  comments, 
replied  Dr.  Slop,  he  would  have  read  it  much  better. — 
I  should  have  read  it  ten  times  better,  sir,  answered 
Trim,  but  that  my  heart  was  so  full. — That  was  the 
very  reason,  Trim,  replied  my  father,  which  has  made 
thee  read  the  sermon  as  well  as  thou  hast  done  ;  and 
if  the  clergy  of  our  church,  continued  my  father, 
addressing  himself  to  Dr.  Slop,  would  take  part  in 
what  they  deliver,  as  deeply  as  this  poor  fellow  has 
done, — as  their  compositions  are  fine; — [I  deny  it, 
quoth  Dr.  Slop] — I  maintain  ^  it; — that  the  eloquence 
of  our  pulpits,  with  such  subjects  to  inflame  it,  would 
be  a  model  for  the  whole  world : — But,  alas !  continued 
my  father,  and  I  own  it,  sir,  with  sorrow,  that,  like 

5 


66  MT  UNCLE  TOBY. 

French  politicians  in  this  respect,  what  they  gain  in 
the  cabinet  they  lose  in  the  field-  I  know  the  author, 
for  'tis  wrote,  certainly,  by  the  parson  of  the  parish. 
The  similitude  of  the  style  and  manner  of  it  with 
those  my  father  had  constantly  heard  preached  in  his 
parish-church  was  the  ground  of  his  conjecture, — 
proving  it,  as  strongly  as  an  argument  a  priori  could 

?*ove  such  a  thing  to  a  philosophic  mind,  that  it  was 
orick's,  and  no  one's  else.  —It  was  proved  to  be  so 
cb  posteriori,  the  day  after,  when  Yorick  sent  a  servant 
to  my  uncle  Toby's  house  to  inquire  after  it. 

It  seems  that  Yorick,  who  was  inquisitive  about  all 
kinds  of  knowledge,  had  borrowed  Steyinus  of  my 
uncle  Toby,  and  had  carelessly  popped  his  sermon,  as 
soon  as  he  had  made  it,  into  the  middle  of  Stevinus  ; 
and  by  an  act  of  forgetfulness,  to  which  he  was  ever 
subject,  he  had  sent  Stevinus  home,  and  his  sermon  to 
keep  him  company. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

I   COME  INTO   THE  WOBLD. 

IT   is  now  proper  I  think,  quoth  Dr.  Slop 
(clearing  up  his  looks),  as  we  are  in  a  con- 
dition   to    be    of    some    service    to    Mrs. 
Shandy,  to  send  upstairs  to  know  how  she 
goes  on. 

I  have  ordered,  answered  my  father,  the  old  mid- 
wife to  come  down  to  us  upon  the  least  difficulty ; — 
for  you  must  know,  Dr.  Slop,  continued  my  father, 
with  a  perplexed  kind  of  a  smile  upon  his  countenance, 
that  by  express  treaty,  solemnly  ratified  between  me 
and  my  wife,  you  are  no  more  than  an  auxiliary  in 
this  affair, — and  not  so  much  as  that, — unless  the 
lean  old  mother  of  a  midwife  above  stairs  cannot  do 
without  you.  Women  have  their  particular  fancies, 
and  in  points  of  this  nature,  continued  my  father, 
where  they  bear  the  whole  burden,  and  suffer  so  much 
acute  pain  for  the  advantage  of  our  families,  and  the 
good  of  the  species, — they  claim  the  right  of  deciding, 
en  souveraines,  in  whose  hands,  and  in  what  fashion, 
they  choose  to  undergo  it. 

They  are  in  the  right  of  it, — quoth  my  uncle  Toby. 
But,  sir,  replied  Dr.  Slop,  not  taking  notice  of  my 
uncle  Toby's  opinion,  but  turning  to  my  father, — 
they  had  better  govern  in  other  points  ; — and  a  father 
of  a  family,  who  wished  its  perpetuity,  in  my  opi- 

5-2 


68  THE  STORY  OF 

nion,  had  better  exchange  this  prerogative  with  them, 
and  give  up  some  other  rights  in  lieu  of  it.  I  know 
not,  quoth  my  father,  answering  a  little  too  testily,  to 
be  quite  dispassionate  in  what  he  said, — I  know  not, 
quoth  he,  what  we  have  left  to  give  up.  One  would 
almost  give  up  anything,  replied  Dr.  Slop.  I  beg  your 
pardon,  answered  my  uncle  Toby. — Sir,  replied  Dr. 
Slop,  it  would  astonish  you  to  know  wnat  improve- 
ments we  have  made  of  late  years  in  all  branches  of 
obstetrical  knowledge, — which  has  received  such  lights 
that,  for  my  part  (holding  up  his  hands),  I  declare  I 
wonder  how  the  world  has. . . , 

I  wish,  Dr.  Slop,  quoth  my  uncle  Toby,  you  had 
seen  what  prodigious  armies  we  had  in  Flanders. 

My  uncle  Toby's  wish  did  Dr.  Slop  a  disservice, 
which  his  heart  never  intended  any  man.— Sir,  it 
confounded  him — and  thereby  putting  his  ideas  first 
into  confusion,  and  then  to  flight,  he  could  not  rally 
them  again  for  the  soul  of  him. 

In  all  disputes, — male  or  female, — whether  for 
honour,  for  profit,  or  for  love, — it  makes  no  difference 
in  the  case  ; — nothing  is  more  dangerous,  Madam, 
than  a  wish  coming  sideways  in  this  unexpected 
manner  upon  a  man :  the  safest  way,  in  general,  to 
take  off  the  force  of  the  wish  is  for  the  party  wished 
at  instantly  to  get  upon  his  legs,  —  and  wish  the 
wisher  something  in  return,  of  pretty  near  the 
same  value  ; — so,  balancing  the  account  upon  the 
spot,  you  stand  as  you  were, — nay,  sometimes  gain 
the  advantage  of  the  attack  by  it. 

Bless  my  soul ! — my  poor  mistress  is  ready  to  faint 
— and  her  pains  are  gone — and  the  drops  are  done — 
and  the  bottle  of  julap  is  broke — and  the  nurse  has 
cut  her  arm — and,  continued  Susannah, — the  midwife 
has  fallen  backwards  upon  the  edge  of  the  fender, 
and  bruised  her  hip  as  black  as  your  hat ; — but  the 


M Z  UNCLE-  TOBY.  69 

midwife  would  gladly  first  give  you  an.  account  how 
things  are ;  so  desires  you  would  go  upstairs  and  speak 
to  her  this  moment. 

Human  nature  is  the  same  in  all  professions. 

The  midwife  had  just  before  been  put  over  Dr. 
Slop's  head  ; — he  had  not  digested  it. — No,  replied 
Dr.  Slop,  'twould  be  full  as  proper  if  the  midwife  came 
down  to  me. — I  like  subordination,  quoth  my  uncle 
Toby, — and  but  for  it,  after  the  reduction  of  Lisle,  I 
know  not  what  might  have  become  of  the  garrison  of 
Ghent,  in  the  mutiny  for  bread,  in  the  year  Ten. 

It  is  two  hours  and  ten  minutes — and  no  more — 
cried  my  father,  looking  at  his  watch — since  Dr.  Slop 
and  Obadiah  arrived,  and  I  know  not  how  it  happens, 
brother  Toby — but  to  my  imagination  it  seems  almost 
an  age. 

Though  my  father  said,  "he  knew  not  how  it 
happened," — yet  he  knew  very  well  how  it  happened ; 
— and  at  the  instant  he  spoke  it  was  predetermined  in 
his  mind  to  give  my  uncle  Toby  a  clear  account  of 
the  matter  by  a  metaphysical  dissertation  upon  the 
subject  of  duration  and  its  simple  modes,'  in  order  to 
show  my  uncle  Toby  by  what  mechanism  and  mensu- 
rations in  the  brain  it  came  to  pass,  that  the  rapid 
succession  of  their  ideas,  and  the  eternal  scampering 
of  the  discourse  from  one  thing  to  another,  since  Dr. 
Slop  had  come  into  the  room,  had  lengthened  out  so 
short  a  period  to  so  inconceivable  an  extent. — I  know 
not  how  it  happens — cried  my  father — but  it  seems  an 
age. 

'Tis  owing  entirely,  quoth  my  uncle  Toby,  to  the 
succession  of  our  ideas. 

My  father,  who  had  an  itch  in  common  with  all 
philosophers  of  reasoning  upon  everything  which 
happened,  and  accounting  for  it  too — proposed  infinite 
pleasure  to  himself  in  this,  of  the  succession  of  ideas, 
and  had  not  the  least  apprehension  of  having  it 
snatched  out  of  his  hands  by  my  uncle  Toby,  who 


70  THE  STORY  OF 

(honest  man  !)  generally  took  everything  as  it 
happened  ; — and  who,  of  all  things  in  the  world, 
troubled  his  brain  the  least  with  abstruse  thinking  ; 
— the  ideas  of  time  and  space — or  how  we  came  by 
those  ideas — or  of  what  stuff  they  were  made — or 
whether  they  were  born  with  us — or  we  picked  them 
up  afterwards  as  we  went  along — or  whether  we  did 
it  in  frocks — or  not  till  we  had  got  into  breeches — with 
a  thousand  other  inquiries  and  disputes  about  infinity, 
"  prescience,  liberty,  necessity,  and  so  forth,  upon  whose 
desperate  and  unconquerable  theories  so  many  fine 
heads  have  been  turned  and  cracked — never  did  my 
uncle  Toby's  the  least  injury  at  all ;  my  father  knew  it 
— and  was  no  less  surprised,  than  he  was  disappointed, 
with  my  uncle's  fortuitous  solution. 

Do  you  understand  the  theory  of  that  affair?  re- 
plied my  father. 

Not  I,  quoth  my  uncle. 

But  you  have  some  ideas,  said  my  father,  of  what 
you  talk  about  1 

No  more  than  my  horse,  replied  my  uncle  Toby. 

Gracious  heaven  !  cried  my  father,  looking  upwards. 
and  clasping  his  two  hands  together — there  is  a  worth 
in  thy  honest  ignorance,  brother  Toby — 'twere  almost 
a  pity  to  exchange  it  for  a  knowledge. — But  I'll  tell 
thee.— 

To  understand  what  time  is  aright,  without  which 
we  never  can  comprehend  infinity,  insomuch  as  one  is 
a  portion  of  the  other — we  ought  seriously  to  sit  down 
and  consider  what  idea  it  is  we  have  of  duration,  so 
as  to  give  a  satisfactory  account  how  we  came  by  it. — 
What  is  that  to  anybody1?  quoth  my  uncle  Toby. 

Now,  whether  we  observe  it  or  no,  continued  my 
father,  in  every  sound  man's  head,  there  is  a  regular 
succession  of  ideas  of  one  sort  or  other,  which  follow 
each  other  in  train  just  like — A  train  of  artillery1? 
said  my  uncle  Toby — A  train  of  a  fiddlestick  ! — quoth 
my  father — which  follow  and  succeed  one  another  in 


J/r  UNCLE  TOST.  71 

our  minds  at  certain  distances,  just  like  the  images  in 
the  inside  of  a  lanthorn  turned  round  by  the  heat  of 
a  candle. — I  declare,  quoth  my  uncle  Toby,  mine  are 
more  like  a  smoke-jack. — Then,  brother  Toby,  I  have 
nothing  more  to  say  to  you  upon  that  subject,  said 
my  father. 

What  a  conjuncture  was  here  lost ! — My  father  in 
one  of  his  best  explanatory  moves — in  eager  pursuit 
of  a  metaphysic  point  into  the  very  regions  where 
clouds  and  thick  darkness  would  soon  have  encom- 
passed it  about ; — my  uncle  Toby  in  one  of  the  finest 
dispositions  for  it  in  the  world ; — his  head  like  a 
smoke-jack ; — the  funnel  unswept,  and  the  ideas 
whirling  round  and  round  about  in  it,  all  obfuscated 
and  darkened  over  with  fuliginous  matter  ! 

Though  my  father  persisted  in  not  going  on  with  the 
discourse — yet  he  could  not  get  my  uncle  Toby's 
smoke-jack  out  of  his  head — piqued  as  he  was  at  first 
with  it : — there  was  something  in  the  comparison  at 
the  bottom,  which  hit  his  fancy  •  for  which  purpose, 
resting  his  elbow  upon  the  table,  and  reclining  the 
right  side  of  his  head  upon  the  palm  of  his  hand- 
but  looking  first  steadfastly  in  the  fire— he  began  to 
commune  with  himself  and  philosophize  about  it : 
but  his  spirits  being  wore  out  with  the  fatigues  of 
investigating  new  tracts,  and  the  constant  exertion  of 
his  faculties  upon  that  variety  of  subjects  which  had 
taken  their  turn  in  the  discourse — the  idea  of  the 
smoke-jack  soon  turned  all  his  ideas  upside  down — so 
that  he  fell  asleep  almost  before  he  knew  what  he  was 
about. 

As  for  my  uncle  Toby,  his  smoke-jack  had  not 
made  a  dozen  revolutions,  before  he  fell  asleep  also. — 
Peace  be  with  them  both  ! — Dr.  Slop  is  engaged  with 
the  midwife  and  my  mother  above-stairs. — Trim  is 
busy  in  turning  an  old  pair  of  jack-boots  into  a  couple 
of  mortars  to  be  employed  in  .the  siege  of  Messina 


72  THE  STOET  OF 

next  summer— and  is  this  instant  boring  the  touch- 
holes  with  the  point  of  a  hot  poker. 

— Every  day  for  at  least  ten  years  together  did  my 
father  resolve  to  have  it  mended — 'tis  not  mended 
yet ; — no  family  but  ours  would  have  borne  with  it  an 
hour — and  what  is  most  astonishing,  there  was  not  a 
subject  in  the  world  upon  which  my  father  was  so 
eloquent,  as  upon  that  of  door-hinges. — And  yet  at 
the  same  time,  he  was  certainly  one  of  the  greatest 
bubbles  to  them,  I  think,  that  history  can  produce  : 
his  rhetoric  and  conduct  were  at  perpetual  handicuffs. 
— Never  did  the  parlour  door  open— but  his  philo- 
sophy or  his  principles  fell  a  victim  to  it ;— three  drops 
of  oil  with  a  feather,  and  a  smart  stroke  of  a  hammer, 
had  saved  his  honour  for  ever. 

When  corporal  Trim  had  brought  his  two  mortars 
to  bear,  he  was  delighted  with  his  handiwork  above 
measure ;  and  knowing  what  a  pleasure  it  would  be 
to  his  master  to  see  them,  he  was  not  able  to  resist 
the  desire  he  had  of  carrying  them  directly  into  his 
parlour. 

Had  the  parlour  door  opened  and  turned  upon  its 
hinges,  as  a  door  should  do,  in  this  case,  I  say,  there 
had  been  no  danger  either  to  master  or  man,  in  cor- 
poral Trim's  peeping  in  :  the  moment  he  had  beheld 
my  father  and  my  uncle  Toby  fast  asleep — the  respect- 
fulness of  his  carriage  was  such,  he  would  have  retired 
as  silent  as  death,  and  left  them  both  in  their  arm- 
chairs, dreaming  as  happy  as  he  had  found  them : 
but  the  thing  was,  morally  speaking,  so  very  imprac- 
ticable, that  for  the  many  years  in  which  this  hinge 
was  suffered  to  be  out  of  order,  and  amongst  the 
hourly  grievances  my  father  submitted  to  upon  its 
account — this  was  one  ;  that  he  never  folded  his  arms 
to  take  his  nap  after  dinner,  but  the  thought  of  being 
unavoidably  awakened  by  the  first  person  who  should 
open  the  door,  was  always  uppermost  in  his  ima- 
gination, and  so  incessantly  stepped  in  betwixt 


MY  UNCLE  TOBY.  73 

him  and  the  first  balmy  presage  of  his  repose,  as  to 
rob  him,  as  he  often  declared,  of  the  whole  sweets 
of  it. 

Pray  what's  the  matter  1  Who  is  there  1  cried  my 
father,  waking,  the  moment  the  door  began  to  creak. — 
I  wish  the  smith  would  give  a  peep  at  that  confounded 
hinge. — Tis  nothing,  an3  please  your  honour,  said 
Trim,  but  two  mortars  I  am  bringing  in. — They  shan't 
make  a  clatter  with  them  here,  cried  my  father 
hastily. — If  Dr.  Slop  has  any  drugs  to  pound,  let  him 
do  it  in  the  kitchen. — May  it  please  your  honour, 
cried  Trim,  they  are  two  mortar-pieces  for  a  siege 
next  summer,  which  I  have  been  making  out  of  a  pair 
of  jack-boots,  which  Obadiah  told  me  your  honour 
had  left  off  wearing. — By  heaven  !  cried  my  father, 
springing  out  of  his  chair,  as  he  swore — I  have  not 
one  appointment  belonging  to  me,  which  I  set  so 
much  store  by,  as  I  do  by  these  jack-boots — they  were 
our  great  grandfather's,  brother  Toby — they  were 
hereditary.  Then  I  fear,  quoth  my  uncle  Toby,  Trim 
has  cut  off  the  entail. — I  have  only  cut  off  the  tops, 
an'  please  your  honour,  cried  Trim. — I  hate  perpe- 
tuities as  much  as  any  man  alive,  cried  my  father — 
but  these  jack-boots,  continued  he  (smiling,  though 
very  angry  at  the  same  time)  have  been  in  the  family, 
brother,  ever  since  the  Civil  Wars  ; — Sir  Koger  Shandy 
wore  them  at  the  battle  of  Marston  Moor. — I  declare 
I  would  not  have  taken  ten  pounds  for  them. — I'll 
pay  you  the  money,  brother  Shandy,  quoth  my  uncle 
Toby,  looking  at  the  two  mortars  with  infinite  plea- 
sure, and  putting  his  hand  into  his  breeches  pocket  as 
he  viewed  them — I'll  pay  you  the  ten  pounds  this 
moment  with  all  my  heart  and  soul. 

Brother  Toby,  replied  my  father,  altering  his  tone, 
you  care  not  what  money  you  dissipate  and  throw 
away,  provided,  continued  he,  'tis  but  upon  a  SIEGE. — 
Have  I  not  one  hundred  and  twenty  pounds  a  year, 
besides  my  half -pay  1  cried  my  uncle  Toby.— What  is 


74  THE  STORY  OP 

that — replied  niy  father,  hastily — to  ten  pounds  for  a 
pair  of  jack -boots  1 — twelve  guineas  for  your  pontoons 
— half  as  much  for  your  Dutch  drawbridge  1 — to  say 
nothing  of  the  train  of  little  brass  artillery  you  be- 
spoke last  week,  with  twenty  other  preparations  for 
the  siege  of  Messina  :  believe  me,  dear  brother  Toby, 
continued  my  father,  taking  him  kindly  by  the  hand 
—these  military  operations  of  yours  are  above  your 
strength  ; — you  mean  well,  brother — but  they  carry  you 
into  greater  expenses  than  you  were  first  aware  of  ; — 
and  take  my  word,  dear  Toby,  they  will  in  the  end 
quite  ruin  your  fortune,  and  make  a  beggar  of  you. 
— What  signifies  if  they  do,  brother,  replied  my  uncle 
Toby,  so  long  as  we  know  'tis  for  the  good  of  the 
nation  1 — 

My  father  could  not  help  smiling  for  his  soul — his 
anger  at  the  worst  was  never  more  than  a  spark  ; — 
and  the  zeal  and  simplicity  of  Trim — and  the  gene- 
rous (though  hobby-horsical)  gallantry  of  my  uncle 
Toby,  brought  him  into  perfect  good  humour  with 
them  in  an  instant. 

Generous  souls  !— God  prosper  you  both,  and  your 
mortar-pieces,  quoth  my  father  to  himself  ! 

All  is  quiet  and  hush,  cried  my  father,  at  least 
above-stairs — I  hear  not  one  foot  stirring. — Prithee, 
Trim,  who's  in  the  kitchen  1  There  is  no  one  soul  in 
the  kitchen,  answered  Trim,  making  a  low  bow  as  he 
spoke,  except  Dr.  Slop — Confusion  !  cried  my  father 
(getting  up  upon  his  legs  a  second  time) — not  one 
single  thing  has  gone  right  this  day  !  had  I  faith  in 
astrology,  brother  (which  by  the  by  my  father  had),  I 
would  have  sworn  some  retrograde  planet  was  hang- 
ing over  this  unfortunate  house  of  mine,  and  turning 
every  individual  thing  in  it  out  of  its  place. — Why,  I 
thought  Dr.  Slop  had  been  above-stairs,  and  so  said 
you. — What  can  the  fellow  be  puzzling  about  in  the 
kitchen  1 — He  is  busy,  an'  please  your  honour,  replied 
Trim,  in  making  a  bridge. — 'Tis  very  obliging  in  him, 


MY  UNCLE  TOST.  75 

quoth  my  uncle  Toby  ; — pray  give  my  humble  service 
to  Dr.  Slop,  Trim,  and  tell  him  I  thank  him  heartily. 

You  must  know  my  uncle  Toby  mistook  the  bridge 
as  widely  as  my  father  mistook  the  mortars. 

When  Trim  came  in  and  told  my  father  that  Dr. 
Slop  was  in  the  kitchen,  and  busy  in  making  a  bridge 
— my  uncle  Toby — the  affair  of  the  jack-boots  haying 
just  then  raised  a  train  of  military  ideas  in  his  brain — 
took  it  instantly  for  granted  that  Dr.  Slop  was  making 
a  model  of  the  marquis  d'Hopital's  bridge. — 'Tis  very 
obliging  in  him,  quoth  my  uncle  Toby ; — pray,  give 
my  humble  service  to  Dr.  Slop,  Trim,  and  tell  him  I 
thank  him  heartily. 

This  unfortunate  drawbridge  of  yours,  quoth  my 
father — God  bless  your  honour,  cried  Trim,  'tis  a 
bridge  for  young  master's  nose. — He  has  crushed  his 
nose,  Susannah  says,  as  flat  as  a  pancake  to  his  face, 
and  he  is  making  a  false  bridge  with  a  piece  of  cotton 
and  a  thin  piece  of  whalebone  out  of  Susannah's  stays, 
to  raise  it  up. — Lead  me  to  my  room,  brother  Toby, 
cried  my  father,  this  instant ! 

Did  ever  man,  brother  Toby,  cried  my  father,  rais- 
ing himself  round  to  his  elbow,  and  turning  himself 
round  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  bed  where  my  uncle 
Toby  was  sitting  in  his  old  fringed  chair,  with  his 
chin  resting  upon  his  crutch — did  ever  a  poor  unfor- 
tunate man,  brother  Toby,  cried  my  father,  receive  so 
many  lashes  1 — The  most  I  ever  saw  given,  quoth  my 
uncle  Teby,  (ringing  the  bell  at  the  bed's  head  for 
Trim)  was  to  a  grenadier,  I  think  in  Makay's  regi- 
ment. 

Was  it  Makay's  regiment,  quoth  my  uncle  Toby, 
where  the  poor  grenadier  was  so  unmercifully  whipped 
at  Bruges  about  the  ducats  1 — O  Christ !  he  was  inno- 
cent !  cried  Trim,  with  a  deep  sigh. — And  he  was 
whipped,  may  it  please  your  honour,  almost  to  death's 
door. — They  had  better  have  shot  him  outright,  as  he 
begged,  and  he  had  gone  directly  to  heaven,  for  he 


76  THE  STORY  OF 

was  as  innocent  as  your  honour. — I  thank  thee,  Trim, 
quoth  my  uncle  Toby.— I  never  think  of  his,  con- 
tinued Trim,  and  my  poor  brother  Tom's  misfortunes, 
for  we  were  all  three  schoolfellows,  but  I  cry  like  a 
coward. — Tears  are  no  proof  of  cowardice,  Trim.  I 
drop  them  ofttimes  myself,  cried  my  uncle  Toby. — I 
know  your  honour  does,  replied  Trim,  and  so  am  not 
ashamed  of  it  myself. — But  to  think,  may  it  please 
your  honour,  continued  Trim,  a  tear  stealing  into  a 
corner  of  his  eye  as  he  spoke — to  think  of  two  virtuous 
lads  with  hearts  as  warm  in  their  bodies,  and  as  honest 
as  God  could  make  them — the  children  of  honest 
people,  going  forth  with  gallant  spirits  to  seek  their 
fortunes  in  the  world — and  fall  into  such  evils  I — poor 
Tom !  to  be  tortured  upon  a  rack  for  nothing — but 
marrying  a  Jew's  widow  who  sold  sausages — honest 
Dick  Johnson's  soul  to  be  scourged  out  of  his  body, 
for  the  ducats  another  man  put  into  his  knapsack  ! — 
O  ! — these  are  misfortunes,  cried  Trim,  pulling  out  his 
handkerchief — these  are  misfortunes,  may  it  please 
your  honour,  worth  lying  down  and  crying  over. 

— My  father  could  not  help  blushing. 

— 'Twould  be  a  pity,  Trim,  quoth  my  uncle  Toby, 
thou  shouldst  ever  feel  sorrow  of  thy  own — thou  feel- 
est  it  so  tenderly  for  others. — Alack-o-day,  replied 
the  corporal,  brightening  up  his  face — your  honour 
knows  I  have  neither  wife  nor  child — I  can  have  no 
sorrows  in  this  world. — My  father  could  not  help 
smiling. — As  few  as  any  man,  Trim,  replied  my  uncle 
Toby ;  nor  can  I  see  how  a  fellow  of  thy  light  heart 
can  suffer,  but  from  the  distress  of  poverty  in  thy  old 
age — when  thou  art  past  all  services,  Trim — and  hast 
outlived  thy  friends. — An'  please  your  honour,  never 
fear,  replied  Trim,  cheerily. — But  I  would  have  thee 
never  fear,  Trim,  replied  my  uncle :  and  therefore, 
continued  my  uncle  Toby,  throwing  down  his  crutch, 
and  getting  up  upon  his  legs  as  he  uttered  the  word 
therefore — in  recompense,  Trim,  of  thy  long  fidelity  to 


MY  UNCLE  TOBY.  77 

me,  and  that  goodness  of  thy  heart  I  have  had  such 
proofs  of — whilst  thy  master  is  worth  a  shilling — thpu 
shalt  never  ask  elsewhere,  Trim,  for  a  penny.  Trim 
attempted  to  thank  my  uncle  Toby — but  had  not  power 
— tears  trickled  down  his  cheeks  faster  than  he  could 
wipe  them  off — He  laid  his  hands  upon  his  breast — 
made  a  bow  to  the  ground,  and  shut  the  door. 

— I  have  left  Trim  my  bowling  green,  cried  my 
uncle  Toby — My  father  smiled — I  have  left  him  more- 
over a  pension,  continued  my  uncle  Toby — My  father 
looked  grave. 

Is  this  a  fit  time,  said  my  father  to  himself,  to  talk 
of  pensions  and  grenadiers  1 

When  I  reflect,  brother  Toby,  upon  man  ;  and  take 
a  view  of  that  dark  side  of  him  which  represents  his 
life  as  open  to  so  many  causes  of  trouble — when  I 
consider,  brother  Toby,  how  oft  we  eat  the  bread  of 
affliction,  and  that  we  are  born  to  it,  as  to  the  portion 
of  our  inheritance — I  was  born  to  nothing,  quoth  my 
uncle  Toby,  interrupting  my  father — but  my  commis- 
sion.— Zooks  !  said  my  father,  did  not  my  uncle  leave 
you  a  hundred  and  twenty  pounds  a  year1? — What 
could  I  have  done  without  it  1  replied  my  uncle  Toby. 
— That's  another  concern,  said  my  father,  testily — 
But  I  say,  Toby,  when  one  runs  over  the  catalogue  of 
all  the  cross  reckonings  and  sorrowful  items  with 
which  the  heart  of  man  is  overcharged,  'tis  wonderful 
by  what  hidden  resources  the  mind  is  enabled  to  stand 
out  and  bear  itself  up,  as  it  does  against  the  imposi- 
tions laid  upon  our  nature. — Tis  by  the  assistance  of 
Almighty  God,  cried  my  uncle  Toby,  looking  up,  and 
pressing  the  palms  of  his  hands  close  together — 'tis 
not  from  our  own  strength,  brother  Shandy — a  ser.ti- 
nel  in  a  wooden  sentry-box  might  as  well  pretend  to 
stand  it  out  against  a  detachment  of  fifty  men, — we 
are  upheld  by  the  grace  and  the  assistance  of  the  best 
of  beings. 

— That  is  cutting  the  knot,  said  my  father,  instead 


78  j/r  L'NCLE  TOBY. 

of  untying  it. — But  give  me  leave  to  lead  you,  brother 
Toby,  a  little  deeper  into  the  mystery. 

With  all  my  heart,  replied  my  uncle  Toby. — Though 
man  is  of  all  others  the  most  curious  vehicle,  said  my 
father,  yet  at  the  same  time  'tis  of  so  slight  a  frame, 
and  so  totteringly  put  together,  that  the  sudden  jerks 
and  hard  jostlings  it  unavoidably  meets  with  in  this 
rugged  journey,  would  overset  and  tear  it  to  pieces  a 
dozen  times  a  day — was  it  not,  brother  Toby,  that 
there  is  a  secret  spring  within  us — Which  spring,  said 
my  uncle  Toby,  I  take  to  be  religion.  —Will  that  set 
my  child's  nose  on]  cried  my  father,  letting  go  his 
finger,  and  striking  one  hand  against  the  other. — It 
makes  everything  straight  for  us,  answered  my  uncle 
Toby. — Figuratively  speaking,  dear  Toby,  it  may,  for 
aught  I  know,  said  my  father ;  but  the  spring  I  am 
speaking  of,  is  that  great  and  elastic  power  within  us 
of  counterbalancing  evil,  which  like  a  secret  spring  in 
a  well-ordered  machine,  though  it  can't  prevent  the 
shock — at  least  it  imposes  upon  our  sense  of  it. 

Now,  my  dear  brother,  said  my  father,  replacing  his 
forefinger,  as  he  was  coming  closer  to  tne  point — hfid 
my  child  arrived  safe  into  the  world,  unmartyred  in 
that  precious  part  of  him — fanciful  and  extravagant 
as  I  may  appear  to  the  world  in  my  opinion  of 
Christian  names,  and  of  that  magic  bias  which  good 
or  bad  names  irresistibly  impress  upon  our  characters 
and  conducts — heaven  is  witness  ;  that  in  the  warmest 
transports  of  my  wishes  for  the  prosperity  of  my  child, 
I  never  once  wished  to  crown  his  head  with  more 
glory  and  honour  than  what  George  or  Edward  would 
have  spread  around  it. 

But  alas  !  continued  my  father,  as  the  greatest  evil 
has  befallen  him — I  must  counteract  and  undo  it  with 
the  greatest  good. 

He  shall  be  christened  Trismegistus,  brother. 

I  wish  it  may  answer,  replied  my  uncle  Toby, 
rising  up. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE   CHEISTENING. 

||  E  shall  bring  all  tilings  to  rights,  said  my 
father,  setting  his  foot  upon  the  first  step 
from  the  landing — this  Trismegistus,  con- 
tinued my  father,  drawing  his  leg  back,  and 
turning  to  my  uncle  Toby — was  the  greatest  (Toby)  of 
all  earthly  beings— he  was  the  greatest  king — the 
greatest  lawgiver,  the  greatest  philosopher — and  the 
greatest  priest — and  engineer — said  my  uncle  Toby. 
— In  course,  said  my  father. 

— And  how  does  your  mistress?  cried  my  father, 
taking  the  same  step  over  again  from  the  landing,  and 
calling  to  Susannah,  whom  he  saw  passing  by  the  foot 
of  the  stairs  with  a  huge  pincushion  in  her  hand — 
how  does  your  mistress?  As  well,  said  Susannah, 
tripping  by,  but  without  looking  up,  as  can  be  ex- 
pected.— What  a  fool  am  I,  said  my  father,  drawing 
his  leg  back  again — let  things  be  as  they  will,  brother 
Toby,  'tis  ever  the  precise  answer. — And  how  is  the 
child,  pray  1— No  answer.  And  where  is  doctor  Slop  1 
added  my  father,  raising  his  voice  aloud,  and  looking 
over  the  balusters— Susannah  was  put  of  hearing. 

Of  all  the  riddles  of  a  married  life,  said  my  father, 
crossing  the  landing,  in  order  to  set  his  back  against 
the  wall,  whilst  he  propounded  it  to  my  uncle  Toby- 
of  all  the  puzzling  riddles,  said  he,  in  a  marriage 


8o  THE  STORY  OF 

state, — of  which  you  may  trust  me,  brother  Toby, 
there  are  more  asses'  loads  than  all  Job's  stock  of 
asses  could  have  carried — there  is  not  one  that  has 
more  intricacies  in  it  than  this — that  from  the  very 
moment  the  mistress  of  the  house  is  brought  to  bed, 
every  female  in  it,  from  my  lady's  gentlewoman  down 
to  the  cinder-wench,  becomes  an  inch  taller  for  it ; 
and  give  themselves  more  airs  upon  that  single  inch, 
than  all  their  other  inches  put  together. 

I  think  rather,  replied  my  uncle  Toby,  that  'tis  we 
who  sink  an  inch  lower. — If  I  meet  but  a  woman  with 
child — I  do  it — 'Tis  a  heavy  tax  upon  that  half  of  our 
fellow  creatures,  brother  Shandy,  said  my  uncle  Toby 
—'Tis  a  piteous  burden  upon  them,  continued  he, 
shaking  his  head. — Yes,  yes,  'tis  a  painful  thing — said 
my  father,  shaking  his  head  too — but  certainly  since 
shaking  of  heads  came  into  fashion,  never  did  two 
heads  shake  together  in  concert,  from  two  such  dif- 
ferent springs. 

God  bless  7  'em  all—  said  my  uncle  Toby  and  my 

Duce  take  3  father,  each  to  himself. 

— So  then,  friend,  you  have  got  my  father  and  my 
uncle  Toby  off  the  stairs,  and  seen  them  to  bed  1 — 
And  how  did  you  manage  it  1 — You  dropped  a  curtain 
at  the  stair-foot. — I  thought  you  had  no  other  way  for  it. 

'Tis  even  high  time,  for  except  a  short  nap,  which 
they  soon  got  whilst  Trim  was  boring  the  jack  boots— 
and  which,  by  the  bye,  did  my  father  no  sort  of  good 

rn  the  score  of  the  bad  hinge — they  have  not  else 
t  their  eyes,  since  nine  hours  before. 
Then  reach  me  my  breeches  off  the  chair,  said  my 
father  to  Susannah.     There  is  not  a  moment's  time  to 
dress  you,  sir,  cried  Susannah — the  child  is  black  in 
the  face. — Bless  me,  sir,  said  Susannah,  the  child's  in 
a  fit. — And  where's  Mr.  Yorick? — Never  where  he 
should  be,  said  Susannah,  but  his  curate's  in  the 
dressing-room,  with  the  child  upon  his  arm,  waiting 
for  the  name— and  my  mistress  bid  me  run  as  fast  as 


MT  UNCLE  TOST.  81 

I  could  to  know,  as  captain  Shandy  is  the  godfather, 
whether  it  should  not  be  called  after  him. 

Were  one  sure,  said  my  father  to  himself,  scratching 
his  eyebrow,  that  the  child  was  expiring,  one  might 
as  well  compliment  my  brother  Toby  as  not — and 
'twould  be  a  pity,  in  such  a  case,  to  throw  away  so 
great  a  name  as  Trismegistus  upon  him. — But  he  may 
recover. 

No,  no, — said  my  father  to  Susannah  :  I'll  get  up. — 
There  is  no  time,  cried  Susannah,  the  child's  as  black 
as  my  shoe. — Trismegistus,  said  my  father — but  stay 
— thou  art  a  leaky  vessel,  Susannah,  added  my  father ; 
canst  thou  carry  Trismegistus  in  thy  head,  the  length 
of  the  gallery  without  scattering  1 — Can  1 1  cried 
Susannah,  shutting  the  door  in  a  huff. — If  she  can, 
I'll  be  shot,  said  my  father,  bouncing  out  of  bed  in 
the  dark,  and  groping  for  his  breeches. 

Susannah  ran  with  all  speed  along  the  gallery. 

My  father  made  all  possible  speed  to  find  his 
breeches. 

Susannah  got  the  start,  and  kept  it. — 'Tis  Tris — 
something,  cried  Susannah. — There  is  no  Christian 
name  in  the  world,  said  the  curate,  beginning  with 
Tris — but  Tristram.  Then  'tis  Tristram -gistus,  quoth 
Susannah. 

There  is  no  gistus  to  it,  noodle  ! — 'tis  my  own  name, 
replied  the  curate,  dipping  his  hand  as  he  spoke  into 
the  bason  —  Tristram !  said  he,  &c.  &c.  &c.  &c.,  so 
Tristram  was  I  called,  and  Tristram  shall  I  be  to  the 
day  of  my  death. 

My  father  followed  Susannah  with  his  nightgown 
across  his  arm,  with  nothing  more  than  his  breeches 
on,  fastened  through  haste  with  but  a  single  button, 
and  that  button  through  haste  thrust  only  half  into 
the  button-hole. 

She  has  not  forgot  the  name,  cried  my  father,  half 
opening  the  door. — No,  no,  said  the  curate,  with  a 
tone  of  intelligence. — And  the  child  is  better,  cried 


82  THE  STOET  OF 

Susannah. — And  how  does  your  mistress?— As  well, 
said  Susannah,  as  can  be  expected. — Pish  !  said  my 
father,  the  button  of  his  breeches  slipping  out  of  the 
button-hole  —  So  that  whether  the  interjection  was 
levelled  at  Susannah,  or  at  the  button  hole— whether 
pish  was  an  interjection  of  contempt,  or  an  interjection 
of  modesty,  was  a  doubt.  All  the  light  I  am  able  to  give 
the  reader  at  present  is  this,  that  the  moment  my  father 
cried  pish  !  he  whisked  himself  about — and  with  his 
breeches  held  up  by  one  hand,  and  his  night-gown 
thrown  across  the  arm  of  the  other,  he  returned  along 
the  gallery  to  bed,  something  slower  than  he  came. 

If  my  wife  will  but  venture  him — brother  Toby, 
Trismegistus  shall  be  dressed  and  brought  down  to 
us,  whilst  you  and  I  are  getting  our  breakfast  to- 
gether. 

Go,  tell  Susannah,  Obadiah,  to  step  here. 

She  has  run  upstairs,  answered  Obadiah,  this  very 
instant,  sobbing  and  crying,  and  wringing  her  hands 
as  if  her  heart  would  break. 

We  shall  have  a  rare  month  of  it,  said  my  father, 
turning  his  head  from  Obadiah,  and  looking  wistfully 
in  my  uncle  Toby's  face  for  some  time  —  we  shall 
have  a  devilish  month  of  it,  brother  Toby,  said  my 
father,  setting  his  arms  a-kimbo,  and  shaking  his  head ; 
fire,  water,  women — brother  Toby  ! — 'tis  some  mis- 
fortune, quoth  my  uncle  Toby. — That  it  is,  cried  my 
father — to  have  so  many  jarring  elements  breaking 
loose,  and  riding  triumph  in  every  corner  of  a  gentle- 
man's house — little  boots  it  to  the  peace  of  a  family, 
brother  Toby,  that  you  and  I  possess  ourselves,  and 
sit  here  silent  and  unmoved — whilst  such  a  storm  is 
whistling  over  our  heads. 

And  what's  the  matter,  Susannah  ?  they  have  called 
the  child  Tristram — and  my  mistress  is  just  got  out  of 
an  hysteric  fit  about  it — no  ! — 'tis  not  my  fault,  said 
Susannah — I  told  him  it  was  Tristram-gistus, 


MY  UNCLE  TOST.  83 

Make  tea  for  yourself,  brother  Toby,  said  my  father, 
taking  down  his  hat — but  how  different  from  the 
sallies  and  agitations  of  voice  and  members  which  a 
common  reader  would  imagine  ! 

For  he  spake  in  the  sweetest  modulation — and  took 
down  his  hat  with  the  gentlest  movement  of  limbs, 
that  ever  affliction  harmonized  and  attuned  together. 

Go  to  the  bowling  green  for  corporal  Trim,  said  my 
uncle  Toby,  speaking  to  Obadiah,  as  soon  as  my  father 
left  the  room. 

Now,  my  father  could  not  lie  down  with  this  afflic- 
tion for  his  life — nor  could  he  carry  it  upstairs  like 
the  other — He  walked  composedly  out  with  it  to  the 
fish-pond. 

Had  my  father  leaned  his  head  upon  his  hand,  and 
reasoned  an  hour  which  way  to  have  gone — reason, 
with  all  her  force,  could  not  have  directed  him  to  any- 
thing like  it  :  there  is  something,  sir,  in  fish-ponds — 
but  what  it  is,  I  leave  to  system-builders  and  fish- 
pond diggers  betwixt  'em  to  find  out — but  there  is 
something,  under  the  first  disorderly  transport  of  the 
humours,  so  unaccountably  becalming  in  an  orderly 
and  a  sober  walk  towards  one  of  them,  that  I  have 
often  wondered  that  neither  Pythagoras,  nor  Plato, 
nor  Solon,  nor  Lycurgus,  nor  Mahomet,  nor  any  one 
of  your  noted  lawgivers,  ever  gave  order  about  them. 

Your  honour,  said  Trim,  shutting  the  parlour  door 
before  he  began  to  speak,  has  heard,  I  imagine,  of  this 
unlucky  accident. — 0  yes,  Trim  !  said  my  uncle  Toby, 
and  it  gives  me  great  concern. — I  am  heartily  con- 
cerned too,  but  I  hope  your  honour,  replied  Trim,  will 
do  me  the  justice  to  believe,  that  it  was  not  in  the 
least  owing  to  me. — To  thee — Trim  1 — cried  my  uncle 
Toby,  looking  kindly  in  his  face — 'twas  Susannah's 
and  the  curate's  folly  betwixt  them. — What  business 
could  they  have,  an'  please  your  honour,  in  the  gar- 
den 1 — In  the  gallery,  thou  meanest,  replied  my  uncle 
Toby. 

6—2 


84  THE  STOEY  OF 

Trim  found  lie  was  upon  a  wrong  scent,  and  stopped 
short  with  a  low  bow — Two  misfortunes,  quoth  the 
corporal  to  himself,  are  twice  as  many  at  least  as  are 
needful  to  be  talked  over  at  one  time  ; — the  mischief 
the  cow  has  done  in  breaking  into  the  fortifications, 
may  be  told  his  honour  hereafter — Trim's  casuistry 
and  address,  under  the  cover  of  his  low  bow,  prevented 
all  suspicion  in  my  uncle  Toby,  so  he  went  on  with 
what  he  had  to  say  to  Trim  as  follows  : 

For  my  own  part,  Trim,  though  I  can  see  little  or 
no  difference  betwixt  my  nephew's  being  called  Tris- 
tram or  Trismegistus — yet  as  the  thing  sits  so  near 
my  brother's  heart,  Trim — I  would  freely  have  given 
a  hundred  pounds  rather  than  it  should  have  hap- 
pened.— A  hundred  pounds,  an'  please  your  honour, 
replied  Trim, — I  would  not  give  a  cherrystone  to 
boot. — Nor  would  I,  Trim,  upon  my  own  account, 
quoth  my  uncle  Toby — but  my  brother,  whom  there 
is  no  arguing  with  in  this  case — maintains  that  a  great 
deal  more  depends,  Trim,  upon  Christian  names,  than 
what  ignorant  people  imagine  ; — for  he  says  there 
never  was  a  great  or  heroic  action  performed  since  the 
world  began  by  one  called  Tristram — nay  he  will  have 
it,  Trim,  that  a  man  can  neither  be  learned,  nor  wise, 
nor  brave. — 'Tis  all  fancy,  an'  please  your  honour — I 
fought  just  as  well,  replied  the  corporal,  when  the 
regiment  called  me  Trim,  as  when  they  called  me 
James  Butler. — And  for  my  own  part,  said  my  uncle 
Toby,  though  I  should  blush  to  boast  of  myself,  Trim, 
— yet  had  my  name  been  Alexander,  I  could  have 
done  no  more  at  Kainur  than  my  duty. — Bless  your 
honour  !  cried  Trim,  advancing  three  steps  as  he  spoke, 
does  a  man  think  of  his  Christian  name  when  he  goes 
upon  the  attack  ? — Or  when  he  stands  in  the  trench, 
Trim  ]  cried  my  uncle  Toby,  looking  firm. — Or  when 
he  enters  a  breach  1  said  Trim,  pushing  in  between 
two  chairs. — Or  forces  the  lines?  cried  my  uncle, 
rising  up,  and  pushing  his  crutch  like  a  pike. — Or 


MY  TTNCLE  TOST.  85 

facing  a  platoon  1  cried  Trim,  presenting  his  stick  like 
a  firelock. — Or  when  he  marches  up  the  glacis  ^  cried 
my  uncle  Toby,  looking  warm  and  setting  his  foot  upon 
his  stool. 

My  father  was  returned  from  his  walk  to  the  fish- 
pond— and  opened  the  parlour  door  in  the  very  height 
of  the  attack,  just  as  my  uncle  Toby  was  marching  up 
the  glacis — Trim  recovered  his  arms — never  was  my 
iincle  Toby  caught  riding  at  such  a  desperate  rate  in  his 
life !  Alas  !  my  uncle  Toby  !  had  not  a  weightier  matter 
called  forth  all  the  ready  eloquence  of  my  father- 
how  hadst  thou  then  and  thy  poor  hobby-horse  too 
have  been  insulted ! 

My  father  hung  up  his  hat  with  the  same  air  he 
took  it  down ;  and  alter  giving  a  slight  look  at  the 
disorder  of  the  room,  he  took  hold  of  one  of  the 
chairs  which  had  formed  the  corporal's  breach,  and 
placing  it  over  against  my  uncle  Toby,  he  sat  down  in 
it,  and  as  soon  as  the  tea  things  were  taken  away,  and 
the  door  shut,  he  broke  out  in  a  lamentation  as 
follows  : 

MY  FATHER'S  LAMENTATION. 

It  is  in  vain  longer,  said  my  father, — it  is  in  vain 
longer,  said  my  father,  in  the  most  querulous  mono- 
tone imaginable,  to  struggle  as  I  have  done  against 
this  most  uncomfortable  of  human  persuasions — I  see 
it  plainly,  that  either  for  my  own  sins,  brother  Toby, 
or  the  sins  and  follies  of  the  Shandy  family,  heaven 
has  thought  fit  to  draw  forth  the  heaviest  of  its 
artillery  against  me ;  and  that  the  prosperity  of  my 
child  is  the  point  upon  which  the  whole  force  of  it  is 
directed  to  play.  Such  a  thing  would  batter  the  whole 
universe  about  our  ears,  brother  Shandy,  said  my 
uncle  Toby — if  it  was  so — Unhappy  Tristram  !  child 
of  wrath  !  child  of  discrepitude  !  interruption  !  mis- 
take !  and  discontent ! 


86  THE  STOUT  OF 

Still,  brother  Toby,  there  was  one  cast  of  the  dye 
left  for  our  child  after  all— 0  Tristram  !  Tristram  ! 
Tristram ! 

We  will  send  for  Mr.  Yorick,  said  my  uncle  Toby. 

You  may  send  for  whom  you  will,  replied  my 
father. 

Can  the  thing  be  undone,  Yorick  1  said  my  father 
— for  in  my  opinion,  continued  he,  it  cannot.  I 
am  a  vile  canonist,  replied  Yorick — but  of  all  evils, 
holding  suspense  to  be  the  most  tormenting,  we  shall 
at  least  know  the  worst  of  this  matter.  I  hate  these 
great  dinners — said  my  father.  The  size  of  the  dinner 
is  not  the  point,  answered  Yorick — we  want.  .Mr. 
Shandy,  to  dive  into  the  bottom  of  this  doubt,  whether 
the  name  can  be  changed  or  not — and  as  the  beards 
of  so  many  commissaries,  officials,  advocates,  proctors, 
registers,  and  of  the  most  eminent  of  our  school 
divines,  and  others,  are  all  to  meet  in  the  middle  of 
one  table,  and  Didius  has  so  pressingly  invited  you — 
who  in  your  distress  would  miss  such  an  occasion  1 
All  that  is  requisite,  continued  Yorick,  is  to  apprize 
Didius,  and  let  him  manage  a  conversation  after  din- 
ner so  as  to  introduce  the  subject.  Then  my  brother 
Toby,  cried  my  father,  clapping  his  two  hands  to- 
gether, shall  go  with  us. 

Let  my  old  tye-wig,  quoth  my  uncle  Toby,  and  my 
laced  regimentals,  be  hung  to  the  fire  all  night,  Trim. 

We'll  go  in  the  coach,  said  my  father — prithee,  have 
the  arms  been  altered,  Obadiah  1 — It  would  have  made 
my  story  much  better  to  have  begun  with  telling  you, 
that  at  the  time  my  mother's  arms  were  added  to  the 
Shandys',  when  the  coach  was  repainted  upon  my 
father's  marriage,  it  had  so  fallen  out,  that  the  coach- 
painter,  whether  by  performing  all  his  works  with  the 
left  hand,  like  Turpilius  the  Roman,  or  Hans  Holbein 
of  Basil — or  whether  'twas  more  from  the  blunder  of 
nis  head  than  hand  —  or  whether,  lastly,  it  was 
from  the  sinister  turn,  which  everything  relating  to 


MY  UNCLE  TOBY.  87 

our  family  was  apt  to  take — it  so  fell  out,  however,  to 
our  reproach,  that  instead  of  the  bend  dexter,  which 
since  Harry  the  Eighth's  reign  was  honestly  our  due — 
a  bend  sinister,  by  some  of  these  fatalities,  had  been 
drawn  quite  across  the  field  of  the  Shandy  arms.  7Tis 
scarce  credible  that  the  mind  of  so  wise  a  man  as  my 
father  was,  could  be  so  much  incommoded  with  so 
small  a  matter.  The  word  coach — let  it  be  whose  it 
would — or  coachman,  or  coach-horse,  or  coach-hire, 
could  never  be  named  in  the  family,  but  he  constantly 
complained  of  carrying  this  vile  mark  of  illegitimacy 
upon  the  door  of  his  own  ;  he  never  once  was  able 
to  step  into  the  coach,  or  out  of  it,  without  turning 
round  to  take  a  view  of  the  arms,  and  making  a  vow 
at  the  same  time,  that  it  was  the  last  time  he  would 
ever  set  his  foot  in  it  again,  till  the  bend-sinister  was 
taken  out — but  like  the  affair  of  the  hinge,  it  was  one 
of  the  many  things  which  the  destinies  had  set  down 
in  their  books — ever  to  be  grumbled  at  (and  in  wiser 
families  than  ours) — but  never  to  be  mended. 

Has  the  bend-sinister  been  brushed  out,  I  say1? 
said  my  father. — There  has  been  nothing  brushed  out, 
sir,  answered  Obadiah,  but  the  lining.  We'll  go  o' 
horseback,  said  my  father^  turning  to  Yorick. 

— Now,  quoth  Didius,  rising  up,  and  laying  his  right 
hand  with  his  fingers  spread  upon  his  breast — had 
such  a  blunder  about  a  Christian  name  happened 
before  the  reformation — [It  happened  the  day  before 
yesterday,  quoth  my  uncle  Toby  to  himself]  and  when 
baptism  was  administered  in  Latin — [7Twas  all  in 
English,  said  my  uncle] — many  things  might  have 
coincided  with  it,  and  upon  the  authority  of  sundry 
decreed  cases,  to  have  pronounced  the  baptism  null, 
with  the  power  of  giving  the  child  a  new  name — had 
a  priest,  for  instance,  which  was  no  uncommon  thing, 
through  ignorance  of  the  Latin  tongue,  baptised  a 
child  of  Tom-o'-Stiles,  in  nomine  patriot  &  filici  & 
spiritum  sanctos — the  baptism  was  held  null. — I  beg 


88  THE  STOEY  OF 

your  pardon,  replied  Kysarcius — in  that  case,  as  the 
mistake  was  only  the  terminations,  the  baptism  was 
valid — and  to  have  rendered  it  null  the  blunder  of 
the  priest  should  have  fallen  upon  the  first  syllable 
of  each  noun — and  not,  as  in  your  case,  upon  the 
last. 

My  father  delighted  in  subtleties  of  this  kind,  and 
listened  with  infinite  attention. 

Gastripheres,  for  example,  continued  Kysarcius, 
baptizes  a  child  of  John  Stradling's  in  Gomine  gatris, 
&c.  <fec.,  instead  of  in  Nomine  patris,  &c. — Is  this  a 
baptism  %  No — say  the  ablest  canonists  ;  inasmuch  as 
the  radix  of  each  word  is  hereby  torn  up,  and  the 
sense  and  meaning  of  them  removed  and  changed 
quite  to  another  object ;  for  Gomine  does  not  signify 
a  name,  nor  gatris  a  father. — What  do  they  signify  1 
said  my  uncle  Toby.— Nothing  at  all,  quoth  Yorick. 
— Ergo,  such  a  baptism  is  null,  said  Kysarcius. — In 
course,  answered  Yorick,  in  a  tone  two  parts  jest  and 
one  part  earnest. 

But  in  the  case  cited,  continued  Kysarcius,  where 
patrim  is  put  for^otfm,  filia  iorjilii,  and  so  on — as  it 
is  a  fault  only  in  the  declension,  and  the  roots  of  the 
words  continue  untouched,  the  inflexions  of  their 
branches,  either  this  way  or  that,  does  not  in  any  sort 
hinder  the  baptism,  inasmuch  as  the  same  sense  con- 
tinues in  the  words  as  before. — But  then,  said  Didius, 
the  intention  of  the  priest's  pronouncing  them  gram- 
matically, must  have  been  proved  to  have  gone  along 
with  it. — Right,  answered  Kysarcius ;  and  of  this, 
brother  Didius,  we  have  an  instance  in  a  decree  of  the 
decretals  of  Pope  Leo  III. — But  my  brother's  child, 
cried  my  uncle  Toby,  has  nothing  to  do  with  the 
pope — 'tis  the  plain  child  of  a  protestant  gentleman, 
christened  Tristram  against  the  wills  and  wishes 
both  of  his  father  and  mother,  and  all  who  are  a  kin 
to  it. 

If  the  wills  and  wishes,  said  Kysarcius,  interrupt- 


3IY  UNCLE  TOBY.  89 

ing  my  uncle  Toby,  of  those  only  who  stand  related 
to  Mr.  Shandy's  child,  were  to  have  weight  in  this 
matter,  Mrs.  Shandy,  of  all  people,  has  the  least  to  do 
in  it.  My  uncle  Toby  laid  down  his  pipe,  and  my 
father  drew  his  chair  still  closer  to  the  table,  to  hear 
the  conclusion  of  so  strange  an  introduction. 

It  has  not  only  been  a  question,  captain  Shandy, 
amongst  the  best  lawyers  and  civilians  in  this  land, 
continued  Kysarcius,  "Whether  the  mother  be  of 
kin  to  her  child," — but,  after  much  dispassionate 
enquiry  and  jactitation  of  the  arguments  on  all  sides 
— it  has  been  adjudged  for  the  negative — namely, 
"  That  the  mother  is  not  of  kin  to  her  child."  My 
father  instantly  clapped  his  hand  upon  my  uncle 
Toby's  mouth,  under  colour  of  whispering  in  his  ear  ; 
— the  truth  was,  he  was  alarmed  for  Lillibullero — and 
having  a  great  desire  to  hear  more  of  so  curious  an 
argument — he  begged  my  uncle  Toby,  for  heaven's 
sake,  not  to  disappoint  him  in  it. — My  uncle  Toby  gave 
a  nod — resumed  his  pipe,  and  contenting  himself  with 
whistling  Lillibullero  inwardly — Kysarcius,  Didius, 
and  Triptolemus  went  on  with  the  discourse  as 
follows. 

This  determination,  considered  Kysarcius,  how  con- 
trary soever  it  may  seem  to  run  to  the  stream  of 
vulgar  ideas,  yet  had  reason  strongly  on  its  side  ;  and 
has  been  put  out  of  all  manner  of  dispute  from  the 
famous  case,  known  commonly  by  the  name  of  the 
Duke  of  Suffolk's  case,  where  the  judges,  with  the 
master  of  the  faculties,  were  all  unanimously  of  opinion, 
that  the  mother  was  not  of  kin  to  her  child. 

And  what  said  the  Duchess  of  Suffolk  to  it  1  said 
my  uncle  Toby. 

The  unexpectedness  of  my  uncle  Toby's  question 
confounded  Kysarcius  more  than  the  ablest  advocate 
— he  stopped  a  full  minute,  looking  in  my  uncle 
Toby's  face  without  replying.  The  company  broke  up. 

And  pray,  said  my  uncle  Toby,  leaning  upon  Yorick, 


90  THE  STOEY  OF 

as  he  and  my  father  were  helping  him  leisurely  down 
stairs — don't  be  terrified,  madam,  this  staircase  con- 
versation is  not  so  long  as  the  last — And  pray,  Yqrick, 
said  my  uncle  Toby,  which  way  is  this  said  affair  of 
Tristram  at  length  settled  by  these  learned  men] 
Very  satisfactorily,  replied  Yorick  ;  no  mortal,  sir, 
has  any  concern  with  it — for  Mrs.  Shandy  the  mother 
is  nothing  at  all  akin  to  him — and  as  the  mother's  is 
the  surest  side— Mr.  Shandy,  in  course,  is  still  less 
than  nothing — in  short,  he  is  not  as  much  akin  to  him, 
sir,  as  I  am. 

That  may  well  be,  said  my  father,  shaking  his 
head. 

Let  the  learned  say  what  they  will,  there  must 
certainly,  quoth  my  uncle  Toby,  have  been  some  sort 
of  consanguinity  betwixt  the  Duchess  of  Suffolk  and 
her  son. — 

The  vulgar  are  of  the  same  opinion,  quoth  Yorick, 
to  this  hour. — 

Though  my  father  was  hugely  tickled  with  the  sub- 
tleties of  these  learned  discourses — 'twas  still  but  like 
the  anointing  of  a  broken  bone — The  moment  he  got 
home,  the  weight  of  his  afflictions  returned  upon  him 
but  so  much  the  heavier,  as  is  ever  the  case  when  the 
staff  we  lean  on  slips  from  under  us — He  became  pen- 
sive— walked  frequently  forth  to  the  fish-pond — let 
down  one  loop  of  his  hat — sighed  often — forebore  to 
snap — and  as  the  hasty  sparks  of  temper,  which 
occasion  snapping,  so  much  assist  perspiration  and 
digestion,  as  Hippocrates  tells  us — he  had  certainly 
fallen  ill  with  the  extinction  of  them,  had  not  his 
thoughts  been  critically  drawn  off,  and  his  health 
rescued  by  a  fresh  train  of  disquietudes  left  him,  with 
a  legacy  of  a  thousand  pounds  by  my  aunt  Dinah. — 

My  father  had  scarce  read  the  letter,  when  taking 
the  thing  by  the  right  end,  he  instantly  began  to 
plague  and  puzzle  his  head  how  to  lay  it  out  mostly 
to  the  honour  of  his  family.— A  hundred  and  fifty  odd 


MY  UNCLE  TOST.  91 

projects  took  possession  of  his  brains  by  turns — he 
would  do  this,  and  that,  and  t'other — he  would  go  to 
Kome — he  would  go  to  law — he  would  buy  stock — he 
would  buy  John  Hobson's  farm — he  would  new  fore- 
front his  house,  and  add  a  new  wing  to  make  it  even 
— there  was  a  fine  water-mill  on  this  side,  and  he 
would  build  a  wind-mill  on  the  other  side  of  the  river 
in  full  view  to  answer  it — But  above  all  things  in  the 
world,  he  would  enclose  the  great  Ox-moor,  and  send 
out  my  brother  Bobby  immediately  upon  his  travels. 

But  as  the  sum  was  finite,  and  consequently  could 
not  do  everything — and  in  truth  very  few  of  these  to 
any  purpose — of  all  the  projects  which  offered  them- 
selves upon  this  occasion,  the  two  last  seemed  to  make 
the  deepest  impression ;  and  he  would  infallibly 
have  determined  upon  both  at  once,  but  for  the  small 
inconvenience  hinted  at  above,  which  absolutely  put 
him  under  a  necessity  of  deciding  in  favour  either  of 
the  one  or  the  other. — 

People  may  laugh  as  they  will — but  the  case  was  this. 

It  had  ever  been  the  custom  of  the  family,  and  by 
length  of  time  was  almost  become  a  matter  of  common 
right,  that  the  eldest  son  of  it  should  have  free  ingress, 
egress,  and  regress,  into  foreign  parts  before  marriage 
not  only  for  the  sake  of  bettering  himself  by  the  benefit 
of  exercise  and  change  of  so  much  air — but  simply  for 
the  mere  delectation  of  his  fancy,  by  the  feather  put 
into  his  cap,  of  having  been  abroad — tantum  valet, 
my  father  would  say,  quantum  sonat. 

Now  as  this  was  a  reasonable,  and  in  course  a  most 
Christian  indulgence — to  deprive  him  of  it,  without 
why  or  wherefore — and  thereby  make  an  example  of 
him,  as  the  first  Shandy  unwhirled  about  Europe  in  a 
post-chaise,  and  only  because  he  was  a  heavy  lad 
— would  be  using  him  ten  times  worse  than  a  Turk. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  case  of  the  Ox-moor  was 
full  as  hard. 

Exclusive  of  the  original  purchase  money,  which 


92  THE  STORY  OF 

was  eight  hundred  pounds — it  had  cost  the  family 
eight  hundred  pounds  more  in  a  law-suit  about  fifteen 
years  before — besides  the  Lord  knows  what  trouble 
and  vexation. 

I  think  there  must  certainly  have  been  a  mixture  of 
ill-luck  in  it,  that  the  reasons  on  both  sides  should 
happen  to  be  so  equally  balanced  by  each  other ;  for 
though  my  father  weighed  them  in  all  humours  and 
conditions — spent  many  an  anxious  hour  in  the  most 
profound  and  abstracted  meditation  upon  what  was 
best  to  be  done — reading  books  of  farming  one  day — 
books  of  travels  another — laying  aside  all  passion 
whatever — viewing  the  arguments  on  both  sides  in  all 
their  lights  and  circumstances — communing  every 
day  with  my  uncle  Toby— arguing  with  Yorick,  and 
talking  over  the  whole  affair  of  the  Ox-moor  with 
Obadiah — yet  nothing  in  all  that  time  appeared  so 
strongly  in  behalf  of  the  one,  which  was  not  either 
strictly  applicable  to  the  other,  or  at  least  so  far 
counterbalanced  by  some  consideration  of  equal 
weight,  as  to  keep  the  scales  even. 

In  point  of  interest — the  contest,  I  own,  at  first 
sight,  did  not  appear  so  undecisive  betwixt  them ; 
for  whenever  my  father  took  pen  and  ink  in  hand, 
and  set  about  calculating  the  simple  expense  of  paring 
aiid  burning,  and  fencing  in  the  Ox-moor,  &c.  <fcc. — 
with  the  certain  profit  it  would  bring  him  in  return — 
the  latter  turned  out  so  prodigiously  in  his  way  of 
working  the  account,  that  you  would  have  sworn  the 
Ox-moor  would  have  carried  all  before  it.  For  it 
•was  plain  he  should  reap  a  hundred  lasts  of 
rape,  at  twenty  pounds  a  last,  the  very  first  year — 
besides  an  excellent  crop  of  wheat  the  year  following 
— and  the  year  after  that,  to  speak  within  bounds, 
a  hundred — but,  in  all  likelihood,  a  hundred  and  fifty 
— if  not  two  hundred  quarters  of  peas  and  beans — 
besides  potatoes  without  end — But  then,  to  think 
he  was  all  this  while  breeding  up  my  brother  like  a 


MY  UNCLE  TOBY.  93 

hog  to  eat  tliem— knocked  all  on  the  head  again,  and 
generally  left  the  old  gentleman  in  such  a  state  of 
suspense— that,  as  he  often  declared  to  my  uncle 
Toby— he  knew  no  more  than  his  heels  what  to  do. 

Nobody,  but  he  who  has  felt  it,  can  conceive  what 
a  plaguing  thing  it  is  to  have  a  man's  mind  torn 
asunder  by  two  projects  of  equal  strength,  both 
obstinately  pulling  in  a  contrary  direction  at  the  same 
time.  My  father  had  certainly  sunk  under  this  evil, 
as  certainly  as  he  had  done  under  that  of  my  Chris- 
tian name — had  he  n&t  been  rescued  out  of  it,  as  he 
was  out  of  that,  by  a  fresh  evil— the  misfortune  of 
my  brother  Bobby's  death. 

What  is  the  life  of  man !  Is  it  not  to  shift  from 
side  to  side  1 — from  sorrow  to  sorrow  1 — to  button  up 
one  cause  of  vexation "Z— and  unbutton  another] 

When  my  father  received  the  letter  which  brought 
him  the  melancholy  account  of  my  brother  Bobby's 
death,  he  was  busy  calculating  the  expense  of  his 
riding  post  from  Calais  to  Paris,  and  so  on  to  Lyons. 

"Twas  a  most  inauspicious  journey  ;  my  father 
having  had  every  foot  of  it  to  travel  over  again,  and 
his  calculation  to  begin  afresh,  when  he  had  almost 
got  to  the  end  of  it,  by  Obadiah's  opening  the  door  to 
acquaint  him  the  family  was  out  of  yeast— and  to  ask 
whether  he  might  not  take  the  great  coach-horse  early 
in  the  morning,  and  ride  in  search  of  some. — With  all 
my  heart,  Obadiah,  said  my  father,  (pursuing  his 
journey)— take  the  coach-horse,  and  welcome. — But 
he  wants  a  shoe,  poor  creature  !  said  Obadiah.— Poor 
creature  !  said  my  uncle  Toby,  vibrating  the  note  back 
again,  like  a  string  in  unison. — He  cannot  bear  a 
saddle  upon  his  back,  quoth  Obadiah,  for  the  whole 
world.— Then  go  on  foot  for  your  pains,  cried  my 
father.— I  had  much  rather  walk  than  ride,  said 
Obadiah,  shutting  the  door. 

What  plagues  !  cried  my  father,  going  on  with  his 


94  THE  STORY  OF 

calculation.— But  the  waters  are  out,  said  Obadiah.-- 
opening  the  door  again. 

Till  that  moment,  my  father,  who  had  a  map  of 
Sanson's  and  a  book  of  the  post  roads  before  him,  had 
kept  his  hand  upon  the  head  of  the  compasses,  with 
one  foot  of  them  fixed  upon  Nevers,  the  last  stage  he 
had  paid  for— purposing  to  go  on  from  that  point  with 
his  journey  and  calculation,  as  soon  as  Obadiah  quitted 
the  room  ;  but  this  second  attack  of  Obadiah's  in 
opening  the  door  and  laying  the  whole  country  under 
water,  was  too  much. — He  let  go  his  compasses— or 
rather  with  a  mixed  motion  betwixt  accident  and 
anger,  he  threw  them  upon  the  table  ;  and  then  there 
was  nothing  for  him  to  do,  but  to  return  back  to 
Calais  (like  many  others)  as  wise  as  he  had  set  out. 

When  the  letter  was  brought  into  the  parlour,  which 
contained  the  news  of  my  brother's  death,  my  father 
had  got  forwards  again  upon  his  journey  to  within  a 
stride  of  the  compasses  of  the  very  same  stage  of 
Nevers. — By  your  leave,  Monsieur  Sanson,  cried  my 
father,  striking  the  point  of  his  compasses  through 
Nevers  into  the  table,— and  nodding  to  my  uncle 
Toby,  to  see  what  was  in  the  letter,— twice  of  one 
night  is  too  much  for  an  English  gentleman  and  his  son, 
Monsieur  Sanson,  to  be  turned  back  from  so  lousy  a 
town  as  Nevers,— what  thinkest  thou,  Toby  1  added 
my  father,  in  a  sprightly  tone. — Unless  it  be  a  garri- 
son town,  said  my  uncle  Toby, — for  then — I  shall  be 
a  fool,  said  my  father,  smiling  to  himself,  as  long  as  I 
live. — So  giving  a  second  nod — and  keeping  his  com- 
passes still  upon  Nevers  with  one  hand,  and  holding 
his  book  of  the  post  roads  in  the  other— half  calcu- 
lating and  half  listening,  he  leaned  forwards  upon  the 
table  with  both  elbows,  as  my  uncle  Toby  hummed 
over  the  letter. 

said  my  uncle  Toby. — Where — who  ]  cried  iny  father. 


MY  UNCLE  TOST.  95 

My  nephew,  said  my  uncle  Toby. — What — without 
leave— without  money — without  governor1?  cried  my 
father  in  amazement.  No  :— he  is  dead,  my  dear 
brother,  quoth  my  uncle  Toby. — Without  being  ill  1 
cried  my  father  again. — I  daresay  not,  said  my  uncle 
Toby,  in  a  low  voice,  and  fetching  a  deep  sigh  from 
the  bottom  of  his  heart,  he  has  been  ill  enough,  poor 
lad  !  I'll  answer  for  him— for  he  is  dead. 

My  father  was  proud  of  his  eloquence  as  Marcus 
Tullius  Cicero  could  be  for  his  life,  and  for  aught  I  am 
convinced  of  the  contrary  at  present,  with  as  much 
reason :  it  was  indeed  his  strength — and  his  weak- 
ness too. — A  blessing  which  tied  up  my  father's 
tongue,  and  a  misfortune  which  set  it  loose  with  a 
grace,  were  pretty  equal :  sometimes,  indeed,  the 
misfortune  was  the  better  of  the  two ;  for  instance, 
where  the  pleasure  of  the  harangue  was  as  ten,  and 
the  pain  of  the  misfortune  but  as  five — my  father 
gained  half-in-half,  and  consequently  was  as  well 
again  off,  as  it  never  had  befallen  him. 

This  clue  will  unravel  what  otherwise  would  seem 
very  inconsistent  in  my  father's  domestic  character  ; 
and  it  is  this,  that  in  the  provocations  arising  from 
the  neglects  and  blunders  of  servants,  or  other 
mishaps  unavoidable  in  a  family,  his  anger,  or  rather 
the  duration  of  it,  eternally  ran  counter  to  all  con- 
jecture. 

Now  let  us  go  back  to  my  brother's  death. 

Philosophy  has  a  fine  saying  for  everything. — For 
death  it  has  an  entire  set ;  the  misery  was,  they  all  at 
once  rushed  into  my  father's  head,  that  'twas  difficult 
to  string  them  together,  so  as  to  make  anything  of  a 
consistent  show  out  of  them. — He  took  them  as  they 
came. 

";Tis  an  inevitable  chance— the  first  statute  in  Magna 
Charta — it  is  an  everlasting  act  of  parliament,  my 
dear  brother,— All  must  die. 


96  THE  STORY  OF 

"  If  my  son  could  not  have  died,  it  had  been  a  matter 
of  wonder, — not  that  he  is  dead. 

••  Mouarchs  and  princes  dance  in  the  same  ring 
with  us. 

"To  die  is  the  great  debt  and  tribute  due  unto 
.nature :  tombs  and  monuments,  which  should  per- 
petuate our  memories,  pay  it  themselves  ;  and  the 
proudest  pyramid  of  them  all,  which  wealth  and 
science  have  erected,  has  lost  its  apex,  and  stands 
obtruncated  in  the  traveller's  horizon."  (My  father 
found  he  got  great  ease,  and  went  on) — "  Kingdoms 
and  provinces,  and  towns,  and  cities,  have  they  not 
their  periods  ?  and  when  those  principles  and  powers, 
Avhich  at  first  cemented  and  put  them  together,  have 
performed  their  several  evolutions,  they  fall  back." 
— Brother  Shandy,  said  my  uncle  Toby,  laying  down 
his  pipe  at  the  word  evolutions — Revolutions,  I  mean, 
quoth  my  father,— by  heaven  !  I  meant  revolutions, 
brother  Toby — evolutions  is  nonsense. — 'Tis  not  non- 
sense— said  my  uncle  Toby — But  is  it  not  nonsense  to 
break  the  thread  of  such  a  discourse,  upon  such  an 
occasion  1  cried  my  father—  Do  not — dear  Toby,  con- 
tinued he,  taking  him  by  the  hand,  dp  not — do  not, 
I  beseech  thee,  interrupt  me  at  this  crisis. — My  uncle 
Toby  put  his  pipe  into  his  mouth. 

"  \Yhere  is  Troy  and  Mycenae,  and  Thebes,  and 
Delos,  and  Persepolis,  and  Agrigentum  ?" — continued 
my  father,  taking  up  his  book  of  post  roads,  which  he 
had  laid  down.— "What  is  become,  brother  Toby,  of 
Nineveh  and  Babylon,  of  Cizicum  and  Mitylenaa'? 
Returning  out  of  Asia,  when  I  sailed  from  ^Egina 
towards  Megara,"  (when  can  this  have  been  ?  thought 
my  uncle  Toby)  "  I  began  to  view  the  countiy  round 
about.  ./Egina  was  behind  me,  Megara  was  before, 
Pyraeus  on  the  right  hand,  Corinth  on  the  left. — What 
nourishing  towns  now  prostrate  upon  the  earth  ! 
Alas  !  said  I  to  myself,  that  man  should  disturb  his 
soul  for  the  loss  of  a  child,  when  so  much  as  this  lies 


MY  UNCLE  TOST.  97 

awfully  buried  in  his  presence — Remember,  said  I  to 
myself  again— remember  them  art  a  man. 

Now  my  uncle  Toby  knew  not  that  this  last  para- 
graph was  an  extract  of  Servius  Sulpicius's  consolatory 
letter  to  Tully. — He  had  as  little  skill,  honest  man, 
in  the  fragments,  as  he  had  in  the  whole  pieces  of 
antiquity. — And  as  my  father,  whilst  he  was  concerned 
in  the  Turkey  trade,  had  been  three  or  four  different 
times  in  the  Levant,  in  one  of  which  he  had  stayed  a 
whole  year  and  a  half  at  Zant,  my  uncle  Toby 
naturally  concluded,  that  in  some  one  of  these  periods 
he  had  taken  a  trip  across  the  Archipelago  into  Asia  ; 
and  that  all  this  sailing  affair  with  JEgina  behind,  and 
Megara  before,  and  Pyraeus  on  the  right  hand,  &c.  &c. 
was  nothing  more  than  the  true  course  of  my  father's 
voyage  and  reflections. — 'Twas  certainly  in  his  man- 
ner and  many  an  undertaking  critic  would  have 
built  two  stories  higher  upon  worse  foundations. 
— And  pray,  brother,  quoth  my  uncle  Toby,  laying  the 
end  of  his  pipe  upon  my  father's  hand  in  a  kindly 
way  of  interruption— but  waiting  till  he  had  finished 
the  account — what  year  of  our  Lord  was  this  1 — 'Twas 
no  year  of  our  Lord,  replied  my  father. — That's 
impossible,  cried  my  uncle  Toby. — Simpleton  !  said 
my  father, — 'twas  forty  years  before  Christ  was 
born. 

My  uncle  Toby  had  but  two  things  for  it ;  either  to 
suppose  his  brother  to  be  the  wandering  Jew,  or  that 
his  misfortunes  had  disordered  his  brain. — "  May  the 
Lord  God  of  heaven  and  earth  protect  him  and  restore 
him,"  said  my  uncle  Toby,  praying  silently  for  my 
father,  and  with  tears  in  his  eyes. 

My  father  placed  the  tears  to  a  proper  account,  and 
went  on  with  his  harangue  with  great  spirit. 

"  There  is  not  such  great  odds,  brother  Toby, 
betwixt  good  and  evil,  as  the  world  imagines  " — (this 
way  of  setting  off,  by-the-bye,  was  not  likely  to  cure  my 
uncleToby's  suspicions). — "  Labour,  sorrow,  grief,  sick- 

7 


98  THE  STORY  OF 

ness,  want,  and  woe,  are  the  sauces  of  life." — Much 
good  may  it  dp  them. — said  my  uncle  Toby  to  himself. 

"  My  son  is  dead  ! — so  much  the  better  ; — 'tis  a 
shame  in  such  a  tempest  to  have  but  one  anchor. 

"  But  he  is  gone  for  ever  from  us  ! — be  it  so.  He  is 
got  from  under  the  hands  of  his  barber  before  he  was 
bald — he  is  but  risen  from  a  feast  before  he  was  sur- 
feited— from  a  banquet  before  he  had  got  drunken. 

"  The  Thracians  wept  when  a  child  was  born " — 
(and  we  were  very  near  it,  quoth  my  uncle  Toby) — 
"  and  feasted  and  made  merry  when  a  man  went  out 
of  the  world  ;  and  with  reason. — Death  opens  the  gate 
of  fame,  and  shuts  the  gate  of  envy  after  it, — it  un- 
looses the  chain  of  the  captive,  and  puts  the  bonds- 
man's task  into  another  man's  hands. 

"Show  me  the  man,  who  knows  what  life  is, 
who  dreads  it,  and  I'll  show  thee  a  prisoner  who 
dreads  his  liberty." 

Is  it  not  better,  my  dear  brother  Toby,  (for  mark— 
our  appetites  are  but  diseases) — is  it  not  better  not  to 
hunger  at  all,  than  to  eat  ] — not  to  thirst,  than  to  take 
physic  to  cure  it  ] 

Is  it  not  better  to  be  freed  from  cares  and  agues, 
from  love  and  melancholy,  and  the  other  hot  and  cold 
fits  of  life,  than  like  a  galled  traveller,  who  comes 
weary  to  his  inn,  to  be  bound  to  begin  his  journey 
afresh  ? 

There  is  no  terror,  brother  Toby,  in  its  looks,  but 
what  it  borrows  from  groans  and  convulsions — and 
the  blowing  of  noses,  and  the  wiping  away  of  tears 
with  the  bottoms  of  curtains  in  a  dying  man's  room. 
—Strip  it  of  these,  what  is  it  1— 'Tis  better  in  battle 
than  in  bed,  said  my  uncle  Toby. — Take  away  its 
hearses,  its  mutes  and  its  mourning, — its  plumes, 
scutcheons,  and  other  mechanic  aids — What  is  it ! — 
Better  in  battle !  continued  my  father,  smiling,  for  he 
had  absolutely  forgot  my  brother  Bobby — 'tis  terrible  no 
way— for  consider,  brother  Toby, — when  we  are — 


MY  UNCLE  TOST.  99 

death  is  not ; — and  when  death  is — we  are  not.  My 
uncle  Toby  laid  down  his  pipe  to  consider  the  proposi- 
tion ;  my  father's  eloquence  was  too  rapid  to  stay  for 
any  man — away  it  went,— and  hurried  my  uncle  Toby's 
ideas  along  with  it. 

For  this  reason,  continued  my  father,  'tis  worthy 
to  recollect,  how  little  alteration  in  great  men  the 
approaches  of  death  have  made — Vespasian  died  in  a 
jest — Galba  with  a  sentence — Septimus  Severus  in  a 
despatch— and  Caesar  Augustus  in  a  compliment.  I 
hope  'twas  a  sincere  one,  quoth  my  uncle  Toby. — 
'Twas  to  his  wife,  said  my  father. 

My  mother  was  going  very  gingerly  in  the  dark 
along  the  passage  which  led  to  the  parlour,  as  my 
uncle  Toby  pronounced  the  word  wife. — 'Tis  a  shrill 
penetrating  sound  of  itself,  so  that  my  mother  heard 
enough  of  it  to  imagine  herself  the  subject  of  the  con- 
versation :  so  laying  the  edge  of  her  finger  across  her 
two  lips,  holding  in  her  breath,  and  bending  her  head 
a  little  downwards,  with  a  twist  of  her  neck — she  lis- 
tened with  all  her  powers. — She  listened  with  com- 
posed intelligence,  and  would  have  done  so  to  the  end 
of  the  chapter,  had  not  my  father  plunged  (which  he 
had  no  occasion  to  have  done)  into  that  part  of  the 
pleading  where  the  great  philosopher  reckons  up  his 
connexions,  his  alliances, "and  children  ;  but  renounces 
a  security  to  be  so  won  by  working  upon  the  passions 
of  his  judges. — "I  have  friends — I  have  relations, — I 
have  three  desolate  children," — says  Socrates. 

Then,  cried  my  mother,  opening  the  door, — you  have 
one  more,  Mr.  Shandy,  than  I  know  of. 

By  heaven  !  I  have  one  less, — said  my  father,  get- 
ting up,  and  walking  out  of  the  room. 

They  are  Socrates'  children,  said  my  uncle  Toby. 
He  has  been  dead  a  hundred  years  ago,  replied  my 
mother. 

My  uncle  Toby  was  no  chronologer— so  not  caring 
to  advance  a  step  but  upon  safe  ground,  he  laid  down 

7-2 


ioo  THE  STORY  OF 

his  pipe  deliberately  upon  the  table,  and  rising  up, 
and  taking  my  mother  most  kindly  by  the  hand, 
without  saying  another  word,  either  good  or  bad  to 
her,  he  led  her  put  after  my  father,  that  he  might 
finish  the  eclaircissement  himself. 

Now  whenever  an  extraordinary  message,  or  letter, 
was  delivered  in  the  parlour, — or  a  discourse  suspended 
till  a  servant  went  out — or  the  lines  of  discontent  were 
observed  to  hang  upon  the  brows  of  my  father  or 
mother — or,  in  short,  when  anything  was  supposed  to 
be  upon  the  tapis  worth  knowing  or  listening  to, 
'twas  the  rule  to  leave  the  door,  not  absolutely  shut, 
but  somewhat  ajar,  which  under  covert  of  the  bad 
hinge  (and  that  possibly  might  be  one  of  the  many 
reasons  why  it  was  never  mended),  it  was  not  difficult 
to  manage ;  by  which  means,  in  all  these  cases,  a 
passage  was  generally  left,  not  indeed  as  wide  as  the 
Dardanelles,  but  wide  enough,  for  all  that,  to  cany  on 
as  much  of  this  windward  trade  as  was  sufficient  to 
save  my  father  the  trouble  of  governing  his  house. 
My  mother  at  this  moment  stands  profiting  by  it — 
Obadiah  did  the  same  thing,  as  soon  as  he  had  left  the 
letter  upon  the  table  which  brought  the  news  of  my 
brother's  death ;  so  that  before  my  father  had  well 
got  over  his  surprise,  and  entered  upon  his  harangue, 
— had  Trim  got  upon  his  legs,  to  speak  his  sentiments 
upon  the  subject. 

My  young  master  in  London  is  dead !  said  Oba- 
diah— 

A  green  satin  nightgown  of  my  mother's  which  had 
been  twice  scoured,  was  the  first  idea  which  Obadiah's 
exclamation  brought  into  Susannah's  head. — Well 
might  Locke  write  a  chapter  upon  the  imperfections 
of  words. — Then,  quoth  Susannah,  we  must  all  go  into~ 
mourning. — But  note  a  second  time  :  the  word  mourn- 
ing, notwithstanding  Susannah  made  use  of  it  herself 
— -failed  also  of  doing  its  office ;  it  excited  not  one 
single  idea,  tinged  either  with  grey  or  black, — .all  was 
green. — The  green  satin  nightgown  hung  there  still. 


MY  UNCLE  TOST.  101 

0  !  'twill  be  the  death  of  my  poor  mistress,  cried 
Susannah. — My  mother's  whole  wardrobe  followed. — 
What  a  procession !  her  red  damask,  —  her  orange- 
tawny, — her  white  and  yellow  lustrings, — her  browii 
taffata,  —  her   bone-laced  caps,  her  bedgowns,  and 
comfortable  under  petticoats. — Not  a  rag  was  left  be- 
hind.— "  No,  —  she  will  never  look  up  again,"  said 
Susannah. 

We  had  a  fat  foolish  scullion — my  father,  I  think, 
kept  her  for  her  simplicity ; — she  had  been  all  autumn 
struggling  with  a  dropsy. — He  is  dead,  said  Obadiah, 
—he  is  certainly  dead  ! — So  am  not  I,  said  the  foolish 
scullion. 

Here  is  sad  news,  Trim !  cried  Susannah,  wiping 
her  eyes  as  Trim  stepped  into  the  kitchen, — master 
Bobby  is  dead  and  buried — the  funeral  was  an  inter- 
polation of  Susannah's — we  shall  have  all  to  go  into 
mourning,  said  Susannah. 

1  hope  not,  said  Trim  !  —  You  hope  not !    cried 
Susannah  earnestly. — The  mourning  ran  not  in  Trim's 
head,  whatever  it  did  in  Susannah's. — I  hope,  said 
Trim,  explaining  himself,  I  hope  in  God  the  news  is 
not  true. — I  heard  the  letter  read  with  my  own  ears, 
answered  Obadiah  ;  and  we  shall  have  a  terrible  piece 
of  work  of  it  in  stubbing  the  ox-moor.  —  Oh  !  he's 
dead,  said  Susannah. — As  sure,  said  the  scullion,  as  I 
am  alive. 

I  lament  for  him,  from  my  heart  and  my  soul,  said 
Trim,  fetching  a  sigh. — Poor  creature ! — poor  boy  ! 
poor  gentleman ! 

He  was  alive  last  Whitsuntide,  said  the  coachman. 
— Whitsuntide  !  alas  !  cried  Trim,  extending  his  right 
arm,  and  falling  instantly  into  the  same  attitude  in 
which  he  read  his  sermon,  —  what  is  Whitsuntide, 
Jonathan  (for  that  was  the  coachman's  name,)  or 
Shrovetide,  or  any  tide  or  time  past,  to  this  1  Are  we 
not  here  now,  continued  the  corporal,  (striking  the 
end  of  his  stick  perpendicularly  upon  the  floor,  so  as 


102  THE  STORY  OF 

to  give  an  idea  of  health  and  stability)  —and  are  we 
not — (dropping  his  hat  upon  the  ground)  gone  !  in  a 
moment !— 'Twas  infinitely  striking  I  Susannah  burst 
into  a  flood  of  tears.  We  are  not  stocks  and  stones. 
— Jonathan,  Obadiah,  the  cook-maid,  all  melted. — The 
foolish  fat  scullion  herself,  who  was  scouring  a  fish- 
kettle  upon  her  knees,  was  roused  with  it.  The  whole 
kitchen  crowded  about  the  corporal. 

— "  Are  we  not  here  now  ;" — continued  the  corporal, 
"  and  are  we  not " — (dropping  his  hat  plump  upon  the 
ground — and  pausing  before  he  pronounced  the  word) 
— "  gone  !  in  a  moment  ]"  The  descent  of  the  hat  was 
as  if  a  heavy  lump  of  clay  had  been  kneaded  into 
the  crown  of  it. — Nothing  could  have  expressed  the 
sentiment  of  mortality,  of  which  it  was  the  type  and 
forerunner,  like  it, — his  hand  seemed  to  vanish  from 
under  it, — it  fell  dead, — the  corporal's  eye  fixed  upon 
it,  as  upon  a  corpse, — and  Susannah  burst  into  a  flood 
of  tears. 

— To  us,  Jonathan,  who  know  not  what  want  or  care 
is — who  live  here  in  the  service  of  two  of  the  best  of 
masters — (bating  in  my  own  case  his  majesty  King 
William  the  Third,  whom  I  had  the  honour  to  serve 
both  in  Ireland  and  Flanders) — I  own  it.  that  from 
Whitsuntide  to  within  three  weeks  of  Cnristmas, — 
'tis  not  long— 'tis  like  nothing ; — but  to  those,  Jonathan, 
who  knew  what  death  is,  and  what  havoc  and  des- 
truction he  can  make,  before  a  man  can  wheel  about 
— 'tis  like  a  whole  age.  O  Jonathan  !  'twould  make 
a  good-natured  man's  heart  bleed,  to  consider,  con- 
tinued the  corporal  (standing  perpendicularly),  how 
low  many  a  brave  and  upright  fellow  has  been  laid 
since  that  time  !  And  trust  me,  Susy,  added  the 
corporal,  turning  to  Susannah,  whose  eyes  were  swim- 
ming in  water, — before  that  time  comes  round  again, — 
many  a  bright  eye  will  be  dim.  Susannah  placed  it 
to  the  right  side  of  the  page— ^she  wept — but  she 
curtseyed  too.  Are  we  not,  continued  Trim,  looking 


MY  UNCLE  TOST.  103 

still  at  Susannah, — are  we  not  like  a  flower  of  the 
field — a  tear  of  pride  stole  in  betwixt  every  two  tears 
of  humiliation — else  no  tongue  could  have  described 
Susannah's  affliction — is  not  all  flesh  grass  1  Tis  clay 
— 'tis  dirt.  They  all  looked  directly  at  the  scullion, — 
the  scullion  had  just  been  scouring  a  fish-kettle.  It 
was  not  fair. 

What  is  the  finest  face  that  ever  man  looked  at ! — I 
could  hear  Trim  talk  so  for  ever,  cried  Susannah, — 
what  is  it !  (Susannah  laid  her  hand  upon  Trim's 
shoulder)— but  corruption1? — Susannah  took  it  off. 

For  my  own  part,  I  declare  it,  that  out  of  doors,  I 
value  not  death  at  all : — not  this... added  the  corporal, 
snapping  his  fingers, — but  with  an  air  which  no  one 
but  the  corporal  could  have  given  to  the  sentiment. 

In  battle  I  value  death  not  this and  let  him  not 

take  me  cowardly,  like  poor  Joe  Gibbons,  in  scouring 
his  gun.  What  is  he  1  A  pull  of  a  trigger — a  push  of 
a  bayonet  an  inch  this  way  or  that — makes  the  differ- 
ence. Look  along  the  line — to  the  right — see  !  Jack's 
down  !  well — 'tis  worth  a  regiment  of  horse  to  him. 
No — 'tis  Dick.  Then  Jack's  no  worse. — Never  mind 
which, — we  pass  on, — in  hot  pursuit  the  wound  itself 
which  brings  him  is  not  felt, — the  best  way  is  to  stand 
up  to  him, — the  man  who  flies,  is  in  ten  times  more 
danger  than  the  man  who  marches  up  into  his  jaws. 
I've  looked  him,  added  the  corporal,  an  hundred  times 
in  the  face, — and  know  what  he  is. — He's  nothing, 
Obadiah,  at  all  in  the  field. — But  he's  very  frightful  in 
a  house,  quoth  Obadiah. — I  never  mind  it  myself,  said 
Jonathan,  upon  a  coach-box. — It  mu^t,  in  my  opinion, 
be  most  natural  in  bed,  replied  Susannah. — And  could 
I  escape  him  by  creeping  into  the  worst  calf's-skin 
that  ever  was  made  into  a  knapsack,  I  would  do  it 
there— said  Trim — but  that  is  nature. 

— Nature  is  nature,  said  Jonathan. — And  that  is  the 
reason,  cried  Susannah,  I  so  much  pity  my  mistress. 
She  will  never  get  the  better  of  it.— Now  I  pity  the 


104  MY  UXiCLE  TOBY. 

captain  the  most  of  any  one  in  the  family,  answered 
Trim. — Madam  will  get  ease  9f  heart  in  weeping— and 
the  squire  in  talking  about  it, — but  my  poor  master 
will  keep  it  all  in  silence  to  himself. — I  shall  hear  him 
sigh  in  his  bed  for  a  whole  month  together,  as  he  did 
for  lieutenant  Le  Fever.  An'  please  your  honour,  do  not 
sigh  so  piteously,  I  would  say  to  him  as  I  lay  beside 
him.  I  cannot  help  it,  Trim,  my  master  would  say, — 
'tis  so  melancholy  an  accident — I  cannot  get  it  off  my 
heart. — Your  honour  fears  not  death  yourself. — I  hope, 
Trim,  I  fear  nothing,  he  would  say,  but  the  doing  a 
wrong  thing. — Well,  he  would  add,  whatever  betides, 
I  will  take  care  of  Le  Fever's  boy— And  with  that,  like 
a  quieting  draught,  his  honour  would  fall  asleep. 

I  like  to  hear  Trim's  stories  about  the  captain,  said 
Susannah. — He  is  a  kindly-hearted  gentleman,  said 
Obadiah,  as  ever  lived. — Aye — and  as  brave  a  one  too, 
said  the  corporal,  as  ever  stepped  before  a  platoon. — 
There  never  was  a  better  officer  in  the  king  s  army, — 
or  a  better  man  in  God's  world  ;  for  he  would  march 
up  to  the  mouth  of  a  cannon,  though  he  saw  the  lighted 
match  at  the  very  touchhole, — and  yet,  for  all  that,  he 
has  a  heart  as  soft  as  a  child  for  other  people. — He 
would  not  hurt  a  chicken. — I  would  sooner,  quoth 
Jonathan,  drive  such  a  gentleman  for  seven  pounds  a- 
year — than  some  for  eight.  Thank  thee,  Jonathan  ! 
for  thy  twenty  shillings, — as  much,  Jonathan,  said  the 
corporal,  shaking  him  by  the  hand,  as  if  thou  hadst  put 
the  money  into  my  own  pocket.— I  would  serve  him 
to  the  day  of  my  death  out  of  love.  He  is  a  friend 
and  a  brother  to  me — and  could  I  be  sure  my  poor 
brother  Tom  was  dead,— continued  the  corporal,  taking 
out  his  handkerchief,  —  was  I  worth  ten  thousand 
pounds,  I  would  leave  every  shilling  of  it  to  the  cap- 
tain. Trim  could  not  refrain  from  tears  at  this  testa- 
mentary proof  he  gave  of  his  affection  to  his  master. 
The  whole  kitchen  was  affected. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 
MY  FATHER'S  GKAND  TRISTRA-P^EDIA. 

jHE  first  thing  which  entered  my  father's 
head,  after  affairs  were  a  little  settled  in  the 
family,  and  Susannah  had  got  possession  of 
my  mother's  green  satin  nightgown, — was  to 
sit  down  coolly,  after  the  example  of  Xenophon,  and 
write  a  Tristra-paedia,  or  system  of  education  for  me  ; 
collecting  first  for  that  purpose  his  own  scattered 
thoughts,  counsels,  and  notions  ;  and  binding  them 
together,  so  as  to  form  an  institute  for  the  government 
of  my  childhood  and  adolescence.  I  was  my  father's 
last  stake  —he  had  lost  my  brother  Bobby  entirely, — 
he  had  lost,  by  his  own  computation,  full  three-fourths 
of  me — that  is,  he  had  been  unfortunate  in  his  three 
first  great  casts  for  me — my  geniture,  nose,  and  name, 
— there  was  but  this  one  left ;  and  accordingly  my 
father  gave  himself  up  to  it  with  as  much  devotion 
as  ever  my  uncle  Toby  had  done  to  his  doctrine  of 
projectiles. 

In  about  three  years,  or  something  more,  my  father 
had  got  advanced  almost  into  the  middle  of  his  work. 
— Like  all  other  writers,  he  met  with  disappointments. 
— He  imagined  he  should  be  able  to  bring  whatever 
he  had  to  say  into  so  small  a  compass,  that  when  it 
was  finished  and  bound  it  might  be  rolled  up  in  my 
mother's  housewife. 
This  is  the  best  account  I  am  determined  to  give  of 


io6  THE  STORY  OF 

the  slow  progress  my  father  made  in  his  Tristra- 
pcedia ;  at  which  (as  I  said)  he  was  three  years,  and 
something  more,  indefatigably  at  work,  and,  at  last, 
had  scarce  completed,  by  his  own  reckoning,  one  half 
of  his  undertaking :  the  misfortune  was  that  I  was 
all  that  time  totally  neglected  and  abandoned  to  my 
mother  :  and  what  was  almost  as  bad,  by  the  very 
delay,  the  first  part  of  the  work,  upon  which  my 
father  had  spent  the  most  of  his  pains,  was  rendered 
entirely  useless — every  day  a  page  or  two  became  of 
no  consequence — 

— No — I  think  I  have  advanced  nothing,  replied  my 
father,  making  answer  to  a  question  which  Yorick  had 
taken  the  liberty  to  put  to  him — I  have  advanced 
nothing  in  the  Tristra-pcedia,  but  what  is  as  clear  as 
any  one  proposition  in  Euclid — Reach  me,  Trim,  that 
book  from  otf  the  scrutoire. — It  has  oftentimes  been 
in  my  mind,  continued  my  father,  to  have  read  it  over, 
both  to  you,  Yorick,  and  to  my  brother  Toby  ;  and  I 
think  it  a  little  unfriendly  in  myself,  in  not  having 
done  it  long  ago. — Shall  we  have  a  short  chapter  or 
two  now, — and  a  chapter  or  two  hereafter,  as  occasions 
serve  ;  and  so  on,  till  we  get  through  the  whole  1  My 
uncle  Toby  and  Yorick  made  the  obeisance  which 
was  proper  ;  and  the  corporal,  though  he  was  not 
included  in  the  compliment,  laid  his  hand  upon  his 
breast,  and  made  his  bow  at  the  same  time. — The 
company  smiled.  Trim,  quoth  my  father,  has  paid 
the  full  price  for  staying  out  the  entertainment. 

My  uncle  Toby  never  felt  the  consciousness  of  his 
existence  with  more  complacency  than  what  the  cor- 
poral's and  his  own  reflections  made  him  do  at  that 
moment : — he  lighted  his  pipe. — Yorick  drew  his  chair 
closer  to  the  table, — Trim  snuffed  the  candle,— my 
father  stirred  up  the  fire, — took  up  the  book, — coughed 
twice,  and  began. 

I  enter  upon  this  speculation,  said  my  father  care- 
lessly, and  half  shutting  the  book,  as  he  went  on, — 


MY  UNCLE  TOST.  107 

merely  to  show  the  foundation  of  the  natural  relation 
between  a  father  and  his  child;  the  right  and  juris- 
diction over  whom  he  acquires  these  several  ways — 

1st,  by  marriage. 

2nd,  by  adoption. 

3rd,  by  legitimation. 

And  4th,  by  creation  ;  all  which  I  consider  in  their 
order. 

I  lay  a  slight  stress  upon  one  of  them  ;  replied 
Yorick — the  last,  especially  where  it  ends  there,  in  my 
opinion  lays  as  little  obligation  upon  the  child,  as  it 
conveys  power  to  the  father.—  You  are  wrong, — said 
my  father  argutely.  I  own  that  the  offspring,  upon 
this  account,  is  not  so  under  the  power  and  jurisdic- 
tion of  the  mother. — But  the  reason,  replied  Yorick, 
equally  holds  good  for  her. — She  is  under  authority 
herself,  said  my  father. — In  what  1  quoth  my  uncle 
Toby.-  -Though  by  all  means,  added  my  father  (not 
attending  to  my  uncle  Toby),  "  The  son  ought  to  pay 
her  respect  ;"  as  you  may  read,  Yorick,  at  large  in  the 
first  book  of  the  Institutes  of  Justinian,  at  the  eleventh 
title  and  the  tenth  section...!  can  read  it  as  well,  re- 
plied Yorick,  in  the  catechism. 

Trim  can  repeat  every  word  of  it  by  heart,  quoth 
my  uncle  Toby. — 

Pugh  !  said  my  father,  not  caring  to  be  interrupted 
with  Trim's  saying  his  catechism.  He  can,  upon  my 
honour,  replied  my  uncle  Toby. — Ask  him.  Mr.  Yorick, 
any  question  you  please. — 

The  fifth  commandment,  Trim, — said  Yorick,  speak- 
ing mildly,  and  with  a  gentle  nod,  as  to  a  modest 
catechumen.  The  corporal  stood  silent. — You  don't 
ask  him  right,  said  my  uncle  Toby,  raising  his  voice, 
and  giving  it  rapidly,  like  the  word  of  command  ; — 

The  fifth cried  my  uncle  Toby. — I  must  begin 

with  the  first,  an'  please  your  honour,  said  the  cor- 
poral.— 


io8  THE  STORY  OF 

Yorick  could  not  forbear  smiling. — Your  reverence 
does  not  consider,  said  the  corporal,  shouldering  his 
stick  like  a  musket,  and  marching  into  the  middle  of 
the  room,  to  illustrate  his  position, — that  'tis  exactly 
the  same  thing,  as  doing  one's  exercise  in  the  field. — 

"  Join  your  right  hand  to  your  firelock,"  cried  the 
corporal,  giving  the  word  of  command,  and  perform- 
ing the  motion.  — 

"  Poise  your  firelock,"  cried  the  corporal,  doing  the 
duty  still  of  both  adjutant  and  private  man. — 

"  Rest  your  firelock,"— one  motion,  an'  please  your 
reverence,  you  see,  leads  into  another.—  If  nis  honour 
will  begin  but  with  the  first. — 

The  first— cried  my  uncle  Toby,  setting  his  hand 
upon  his  side — 

The  second — cried  my  uncle  Toby,  waving  his 
tobacco-pipe,  as  he  would  have  done  his  sword  at  the 
head  of  a  regiment. — The  corporal  went  through  his 
manual  with  exactness  ;  and  having  honoured  his 
fatJier  and  mother,  made  a  low  bow,  and  fell  back  to 
the  side  of  the  room. 

Everything  in  the  world,  said  my  father,  is  big  with 
jest, — and  has  wit  in  it,  and  instruction  too,— if  we 
can  but  find  it  out. 

— Here  is  the  scaffold  work  of  instruction,  its  true 
point  of  folly,  without  the  building  behind  it — 

— Sciences  may  be  learned  by  rote,  but  Wisdom  not. 

Yorick  thought  my  father  inspired. — I  will  enter 
into  obligations  this  moment,  said  my  father,  to  lay 
out  all  my  aunt  Dinah's  legacy,  in  charitable  uses  (of 
which,  by  the  bye,  my  father  had  no  high  opinion)  if 
the  corporal  has  any  one  determinate  idea  annexed  to 
any  one  word  he  has  repeated. — Prithee,  Trim,  quoth 
my  father,  turning  round  to  him, — What  do'st  thou 
mean,  by  "  honouring  thy  father  and  mother  ?" 

Allowing  them,  an'  please  your  honour,  three  half- 
pence a  day  out  of  my  pay,  when  they  grew  old.— 
And  didst  thou  do  that,  Trim  ]  said  Yorick.— He  did 


MY  UNCLE  TOBY.  109 

indeed,  replied  my  uncle  Toby. — Then,  Trim,  said 
Yorick,  springing  out  of  his  chair,  and  taking  the 
corporal  by  the  hand,  thou  art  the  best  commentator 
upon  that  part  of  the  Decalogue  ;  and  I  honour  thee 
more  for  it,  corporal  Trim,  than  if  thou  hadst  had  a 
hand  in  the  Talmud  itself. 

0  blessed  health  !  cried  my  father,  making  an  ex- 
clamation, as  he  turned  over  the  leaves  to  the  next 
chapter, — thou  art  above  all  gold  and  treasure  ;  'tis 
thou  who  enlargest  the  soul, — and  openest  all  its 
powers  to  receive  instruction  and  to  relish  virtue. — 
He  that  has  thee,  has  little  more  to  wish  for  ; — and  he 
that  is  so  wretched  as  to  want  thee, — wants  everything 
with  thee. 

1  have  concentrated  all  that  can  be  said  upon  this 
important  head,  said  my  father,  into  a  very  little  room, 
therefore  we'll  read  the  chapter  quite  through. 

My  father  read  as  follows. 

"  The  whole  secret  of  health  depending  upon  the 
due  contention  for  mastery  betwixt  the  radical  heat 
and  the  radical  moisture" — you  have  proved  that 
matter  of  fact,  I  suppose,  above,  said  Yorick.  Suffi- 
ciently, replied  my  father. 

In  saying  this,  my  father  shut  the  book, — not  as  if 
he  resolved  to  read  no  more  of  it,  for  he  kept  his 
forefinger  in  the  chapter  : — nor  pettishly, — for  he  shut 
the  book  slowly  ;  his  thumb  resting,  when  he  had 
done  it,  upon  the  upper  side  of  the  cover,  as  his  three 
fingers  supported  the  lower  side  of  it,  without  the  least 
compressive  violence. 

I  have  demonstrated  the  truth  of  that  point,  quoth 
my  father,  nodding  to  Yorick,  most  sufficiently  in  the 
preceding  chapter. 

The  description  of  the  siege  of  Jericho  itself,  could 
not  have  engaged  the  attention  of  my  uncle  Toby 
more  powerfully ; — his  eyes  were  fixed  upon  my  father 
throughout  it ; — he  never  mentioned  radical  heat  and 
radical  moisture,  but  my  uncle  Toby  took  his  pipe 


no  THE  STOET  OF 

out  of  his  mouth,  and  shook  his  head  •  and  as  soon  as 
the  chapter  was  finished,  he  beckoned  to  the  corporal 
to  come  close  to  his  chair,  to  ask  him  a  question. 

It  was  at  the  siege  of  Limerick,  an'  please  your 
honour,  replied  the  corporal,  making  a  bow. 

The  poor  fellow  and  I,  quoth  my  uncle  Toby,  ad- 
dressing himself  to  my  father,  were  scarce  able  to 
crawl  out  of  our  tents,  at  the  time  the  siege  of  Limerick 
was  raised,  upon  the  very  account  you  mention. — Now 
what  can  have  got  into  that  precious  noddle  of  thine, 
my  dear  brother  Toby  1  cried  my  father,  mentally. — 
By  heaven !  continued  he,  communing  still  with 
himself,  it  would  puzzle  an  (Edipus  to  bring  it  in 
point. — 

I  believe,  an'  please  your  honour,  quoth  the  corporal, 
that  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  quantity  of  brandy  we 
set  fire  to  every  night,  and  the  claret  and  cinnamon 
with  which  I  plied  your  honour  off ; — And  the  geneva, 
Trim,  added  my  uncle  Toby,  which  did  us  more  good 
than  all — I  verily  believe,  continued  the  corporal,  we 
had  both,  an'  please  your  honour,  left  our  lives  in  the 
trenches,  and  been  buried  in  them  too. — The  noblest 
grave,  corporal !  cried  my  uncle  Toby,  his  eyes  spark- 
ling as  he  spoke,  that  a  soldier  could  wish  to  lie  down 
in. — But  a  pitiful  death  for  him  !  an'  please  your 
honour,  replied  the  corporal. 

All  this  was  as  much  Arabic  to  my  father,  as  the 
rites  of  Colchi  and  Troglodites  had  been  before  to  my 
uncle  Toby  ;  my  father  could  not  determine  whether 
he  was  to  frown  or  smile — 

My  uncle  Toby,  turning  to  Yorick,  resumed  the 
case  at  Limerick,  more  intelligibly  than  he  had  begun 
it, — and  so  settled  the  point  for  my  father  at  once. 

It  was  undoubtedly,  said  my  uncle  Toby,  a  great 
happiness  for  myself  and  the  corporal,  that  we  had  all 
along  a  burning  fever,  attended  with  a  most  raging 
thirst,  during  the  whole  five  and  twenty  days  the  flux 
was  upon  us  in  the  camp  ;  otherwise  what  my  brother 


MY  UNCLE  TOST.  in 

calls  the  radical  moisture,  must,  as  I  conceive  it,  in- 
evitably have  got  the  better. — My  father  drew  in  his 
lungs  top  full  of  air,  and.  looking  up,  blew  it  forth 
again,  as  slowly  as  he  possibly  could — 

It  was  heaven's  mercy  to  us,  continued  my  uncle 
Toby,  which  put  it  into  the  corporal's  head  to  maintain 
that  due  contention  betwixt  the  radical  heat  and  the 
radical  moisture,  by  re-inforcing  the  fever,  as  he  did 
all  along,  with  hot  wine  and  spices. 

— Well, — said  my  father,  with  a  full  aspiration,  and 
pausing  awhile  after  the  word — Was  I  judge,  and  the 
laws  of  the  country  which  made  me  one  permitted  it, 
I  would  condemn  some  of  the  worst  malefactors,  pro- 
vided they  had  had  their  clergy Yorick,  foreseeing 

the  sentence  was  likely  to  end  with  no  sort  of  mercy, 
laid  his  hand  upon  my  father's  breast,  and  begged  he 
would  respite  it  for  a  few  minutes,  till  he  had  asked 
the  corporal  a  question. — Prithee,  Trim,  said  Yorick, 
without  staying  for  my  father's  leave, — tell  us  honestly 
— what  is  thy  opinion  concerning  this  self -same  radical 
heat  and  radical  moisture  ] 

With  humble  submission  to  his  honour's  better  judg- 
ment, quoth  the  corporal,  making  a  bow  to  my  uncle 
Toby.— Speak  thy  opinion  freely,  corporal,  said  my 
uncle  Toby. — The  poor  fellow  is  my  servant, — not  my 
slave, — added  my  uncle  Toby,  turning  to  my  father. 

The  corporal  put  his  hat  under  his  left  arm,  and 
with  his  stick  hanging  upon  the  wrist  of  it,  by  a  black 
thong  split  into  a  tassel  about  the  knot,  he  marched 
up  to  the  ground  where  he  had  performed  his  catechism'; 
then  touching  his  under  jaw  with  the  thumb  and 
fingers  of  his  right  hand  before  he  opened  his  mouth, 
— he  delivered  his  notion  thus. 

Just  as  the  corporal  was  humming  to  begin,  in 
waddled  Dr.  Slop. 

The  city  of  Limerick,  the  siege  of  which  was  begun 
under  his  Majesty  King  William  himself,  the  year 
after  I  went  into  army — lies,  an'  please  your  honours, 


ii2  THE  STORY  OF 

in  the  middle  of  a  devilish  wet,  swampy  country. — 
Tis  quite  surrounded,  said  my  uncle  Toby,  with  the 
Shannon,  and  is,  by  its  situation,  one  of  the  strongest 
fortified  places  in  Ireland. 

I  think  this  is  a  new  fashion,  quoth  Dr.  Slop,  of 
beginning  a  medical  lecture. — 'Tis  all  true,  answered 
Trim. — Then  I  wish  the  faculty  would  follow  the  cut 
of  it,  said  Yorick. — Tis  all  cut  through,  an'  please 
your  reverence,  said  the  corporal,  with  drains  and  bogs ; 
and  besides,  there  was  such  a  quantity  of  rain  fell  dur- 
ing the  siege,  the  whole  country  was  like  a  puddle, — 
'twas  that,  and  nothing  else,  which  brought  on  the  flux, 
and  which  had  liked  to  have  killed  bpthhis  honour  and 
myself ;  now  there  was  no  such  thing,  after  the  first 
ten  days,  continued  the  corporal,  for  a  soldier  to  lie 
dry  in  his  tent,  without  cutting  a  ditch  round  it,  to 
draw  off  the  water  ; — nor  was  that  enough,  for  those 
who  could  afford  it,  as  his  honour  could,  without 
setting  fire  every  night  to  a  pewter  dish  full  of  brandy, 
which  took  off  the  damp  of  the  air,  and  made  the  in- 
side of  the  tent  as  warm  as  a  stove. 

And  what  conclusion  dost  thou  draw,  corporal  Trim, 
cried  my  father,  from  all  these  premises  ] 

I  infer,  an'  please  your  worship,  replied  Trim,  that 
the  radical  moisture  is  nothing  in  the  world  but  ditch- 
water — and  that  the  radical  heat,  of  those  who  can  go 
to  the  expense  of  it,  is  burnt  brandy— and  a  dram  of 
geneva — and  give  us  but  enough  of  it,  with  a  pipe  of 
.tobacco,  to  give  us  spirits,  and  drive  away  the  vapours 
— we  know  not  what  it  is  to  fear  death. 

I  am  at  a  loss,  Captain  Shandy,  quoth  Dr.  Slop,  to 
determine  in  which  branch  of  learning  your  servant 
shines  most,  whether  in  physiology,  or  divinity. — Slop 
had  not  forgot  Trim's  comment  upon  the  sermon. 

It  is  but  an  hour  ago,  replied  Yorick,  since  the  cor- 
poral was  examined  in  the  latter,  and  passed  muster 
with  great  honour. 

The  radical  heat  and  moisture,  quoth  Dr.  Slop, 


MY  UNCLE  TOST.  113 

turning  to  my  father,  you  must  know,  is  the  basis  and 
foundation  of  our  being, — as  the  root  of  a  tree  is  the 
source  and  principle  of  its  vegetation. — It  is  inherent 
in  the  seeds  of  all  animals,  and  may  be  preserved 
sundry  ways,  but  principally  in  my  opinion  by  con- 
substantials,  impriments,  and  occludents. — Now  this 
poor  fellow,  continued  Dr.  Slop,  pointing  to  the  corpo- 
ral, has  had  the  misfortune  to  have  heard  some  super- 
ficial empiric  discourse  upon  this  nice  point. — That 
he  has, — said  my  father. — Very  likely,  said  my  uncle. 
I'm  sure  of  it — quoth  Yorick. 

Dr.  Slop  being  called  out,  it  gave  my  father  an 
opportunity  of  going  on  with  another  chapter  in  the 
Trittra-pasdia. 

Five  years  with  a  bib  under  his  chin  ; 

A  year  and  a  half  in  learning  to  write  his  own  name  ; 

Seven  long  years  and  more  rwTrrw-ing  it,  at  Greek 
and  Latin  ; 

Four  years  at  his  probations  and  his  negations  ; — the 
fine  statue  still  lying  in  the  middle  of  the  marble 
block, — and  nothing  done  but  his  tools  sharpened  to 
hew  it  out ! — 'Tis  a  piteous  delay  ! — Was  not  the  great 
Julius  Scaliger  within  an  ace  of  never  getting  his  tools 
sharpened  at  all  1 — Forty-four  years  old  was  he  before 
he  could  manage  his  Greek ; — and  Peter  Damianus, 
Lord  Bishop  of  Ostia,  as  all  the  world  knows,  could 
not  so  much  as  read,  when  he  was  of  man's  estate  : — 
and  Baldus  himself,  eminent  as  he  turned  out  after, 
entered  upon  the  law  so  late  in  life  that  everybody 
imagined  he  intended  to  be  an  advocate  in  the  other 
world. 

Yorick  listened  to  my  father  with  great  attention  ; 
there  was  a  seasoning  of  wisdom  unaccountably  mixed 
up  with  his  strangest  whims  ;  and  he  had  sometimes 
such  illuminations  in  the  darkest  of  his  eclipses  as 
almost  atoned  for  them. 

I  am  convinced,  Yorick,  continued  my  father,  half 
reading  and  half  discoursing,  that  there  is  a  north- 

8 


n8  THE  STORY  OF 

west  passage  to  the  intellectual  world ;  and  that  the 
soul  of  man  has  shorter  ways  of  going  to  work,  in 
furnishing  itself  with  knowledge  and  instruction,  than 
we  generally  take  with  it. — But,  alack  !  all  fields  have 
not  a  river  or  a  spring  running  beside  them  ; — every 
child,  Yorick,  has  not  a  parent  to  point  it  out. 

— The  whole  entirely  depends,  added  my  father,  in  a 
low  voice,  upon  the  auxiliary  verbs,  Mr.  Yorick. 

Now  the  use  of  the  Auxiliaries  is  at  once  to  set  the 
soul  a-going  by  herself  upon  the  materials  as  they  are 
brought  her ;  and,  by  the  versability  of  this  great 
engine,  round  which  they  are  twisted,  to  open  new 
tracts  of  enquiry,  and  make  every  idea  engender 
millions. 

You  excite  my  curiosity  greatly,  said  Yorick. 

For  my  own  part,  quoth  my  uncle  Toby,  I  have 
given  it  up. . .  .The  Danes,  an'  please  your  honour,  quoth 
the  corporal,  who  were  on  the  left  at  the  siege  of 
Limerick,  were  all  auxiliaries.... And  very  good  ones, 
said  my  uncle  Toby.... And  your  honour  roul'd  -with 
them — captains  with  captains — very  well,  said  the 
corporal.... But  the  auxiliaries,  Trim,  my  brother  is 
talking  about,  answered  my  uncle  Toby,  I  conceive  to 
be  different  things. — 

My  father  took  a  single  turn  across  the  room,  then 
sat  down  and  finished  the  chapter. 

The  verbs  auxiliary  we  are  concerned  in  here,  con- 
tinued my  father,  are  am ;  was ;  have  ;  had ;  do  ; 
did  ;  make ;  made  ;  suffer ;  shall ;  should  •  will  ; 
would  ;  can  ;  could  ;  owe  ;  ought ;  used  ;  or  is  wont. 
— And  these  varied  with  tenses,  present,  past,  future, 
conjugated  with  the  verb  see — or  with  these  questions 
added  to  them  ; — Is  it  1  was  it  1  will  it  be  ?  would  it 
be  1  may  it  be  1  might  it  be  ?  And  these  again  put 
negatively,  is  it  not  1  was  it  not  1  ought  it  not  1 — Or 
affirmatively. — it  is ;  it  was  ;  it  ought  to  be. — Or 
chronologically, — has  it  been  always1?  lately?  how 
long  ago1? — Or  hypothetically— if  it  was;  if  it  was 


MY  UNCLE  TOST.  115 

not  ]  What  would  follow  1— If  the  French  should 
beat  the  English  1  If  the  sun  go  out  of  the  Zodiac  ] 

Now  by  the  right  use  and  application  of  these,  con- 
tinued my  father,  in  which  a  child's  memory  should 
be  exercised,  there  is  no  one  idea  can  enter  his  brain 
how  barren  soever,  but  a  magazine  of  conceptions  and 
conclusions  may  be  drawn  forth  from  it. — Did'st  thou 
ever  see  a  white  bear  1  cried  my  father,  turning  his 
head  round  to  Trim,  who  stood  at  the  back  of  his 
chair  : — No,  an'  please  your  honour,  replied  the  cor- 
poral.— But  thou  could'st  discourse  about  one,  Trim, 
said  my  father,  in  case  of  need  ] — How  is  it  possible, 
brother,  quoth  my  uncle  Toby,  if  the  corporal  never 
saw  one  1 — "Pis  the  fact  I  want,  replied  my  father, — 
and  the  possibility  of  it,  is  as  follows. 

A  white  bear  !  Very  well.  Have  I  ever  seen  one  1 
Might  I  ever  have  seen  one?  Am  I  ever  to  see 
one  1  Ought  I  ever  to  have  seen  one  1  Or  can  I  ever 
see  one  1 

Would  I  had  seen  a  white  bear  ]  (for  how  can  I 
imagine  it  1} 

If  I  should  see  a  white  bear,  what  should  I  say1?  If 
I  should  never  see  a  white  bear,  what  then  1 

If  I  never  have,  can,  must,  or  shall  see  a  white  bear 
alive  ;  have  I  ever  seen  the  skin  of  one  1  Did  I  ever 
see  one  painted  1 — described  ]  Have  I  never  dreamed 
of  one1? 

Did  my  father,  mother,  uncle,  aunt,  brothers  or 
sisters,  ever  see  a  white  bear1?  What  would  they 
give"?  How  would  they  behave]  How  would  the 
white  bear  have  behaved]  Is  he  wild]  tame] 
terrible]  rough]  smooth] 

—  Is  the  white  bear  worth  seeing  ] — 

Is  there  no  sin  in  it  ] 

—Is  it  better  than  a  BLACK  ONE  ] — 

When  my  father  had  danced  his  white  bear  back- 
wards and  forwards  through  half  a  dozen  pages, 
he  closed  the  book  for  good  an'  all — and  in  a  kind  of 

8—2 


n6  THE  STOET  OF 

triumph  redelivered  it  into  Trim's  hand  with  a  nod 
to  lay  it  upon  the  'scrutoire  where  he  found  it. — 
Tristram,  said  he,  shall  be  made  to  conjugate  every 
word  in  the  dictionary,  backwards  and  forwards 
the  same  way  ; — every  word,  Yorick,  by  this  means, 
you  see,  is  converted  into  a  thesis  or  an  hypothesis  ; 
—every  thesis  and  hypothesis  have  an  offspring  of 
propositions ;— and  each  proposition  has  its  own 
consequences  and  conclusions  ;  every  one  of  which 
leads  the  mind  on  again  into  fresh  tracks  of  inquiries 
and  doublings. — The  force  of  this  engine,  added  my 
father,  is  incredible,  in  opening  a  child's  head. — 'Tis 
enough,  brother  Shandy,  cried  my  uncle  Toby,  to 
burst  it  into  a  thousand  splinters. 

There  are  a  thousand  resolutions,  sir,  both  in  church 
and  state,  as  well  as  in  matters,  madam,  of  a  more 
private  concern  ; — which,  though  they  have  carried  all 
the  appearance  in  the  world  of  being  taken,  and 
entered  upon  in  a  hasty,  hair-brained,  and  unadvised 
manner,  were,  notwithstanding  this,  weighed,  poised, 
and  perpended— argued  upon — canvassed  through — 
entered  into,  and  examined  on  all  sides  with  so  much 
coolness,  that  the  goddess  of  coolness  herself  (I  do 
not  take  upon  me  to  prove  her  existence)  could  neither 
have  wished  it,  nor  done  it  better. 

Of  the  number  of  these  was  my  father's  resolution 
of  putting  me  into  breeches  ;  which,  though  deter- 
mined at  once,  in  a  kind  of  huff,  and  a  defiance  of  all 
mankind,  had,  nevertheless,  been  pro'd  and  con'd,  and 
judicially  talked  over  betwixt  him  and  my  mother 
about  a  month  before,  in  two  several  beds  of  justice, 
which  my  father  had  held  for  that  purpose. 

We  should  begin,  said  my  father,  turning  himself 
half  round  in  bed,  and  shifting  his  pillow  a  little 
towards  my  mother's,  as  he  opened  the  debate— we 
should  begin  to  think,  Mrs.  Shandy,  of  putting  this 
boy  into  breeches.— 


MY  UNCLE  TOBY.  117 

We  should  so — said  my  mother.— We  defer  it,  my 
dear,  quoth  my  father,  shamefully. 

I  think  we  do,  Mr.  Shandy— said  my  mother. 

— Not  but  the  child  looks  extremely  well,  said  my 
father,  in  his  vests  and  tunics. — 

He  does  look  very  well  in  them, — replied  my 
mother. — 

And  for  that  reason  it  would  be  almost  a  sin, 
added  my  father,  to  take  him  out  of  'em. 

It  would  so — said  my  mother  : — But  indeed  he  is 
growing  a  very  tall  lad — rejoined  my  father. 

He  is  very  tall  for  his  age,  indeed— said  my 
mother. 

I  can  not  (making  two  syllables  of  it)  imagine, 
quoth  my  father,  who  the  deiice  he  takes  after. 

I  cannot  conceive,  for  my  life— said  my  mother. 

Humph  ! — said  my  father. 

(The  dialogue  ceased  for  a  moment.) 

I  am  very  short  myself — continued  my  father, 
gravely. 

You  are  very  short,  Mr.  Shandy, — said  my  mother. 

Humph !  quoth  my  father  to  himself,  a  second 
time  :  in  muttering  which,  he  plucked  his  pillow  a 
little  further  from  my  mother's — and  turning  about 
again,  there  was  end  of  the  debate  for  three  minutes 
and  a  half. 

When  he  gets  these  breeches  made,  cried  my  father, 
in  a  higher  tone,  he'll  look  like  a  beast  in  'em. 

He  will  be  very  awkward  in  them  at  first,  replied 
my  mother. 

And  'twill  be  lucky,  if  that's  the  worst  on't,  added 
my  father. 

It  will  be  very  lucky,  answered  my  mother. 

I  suppose,  replied  my  father, — making  some  pause 
first— he'll  be  exactly  like  other  people's  children. 

Exactly,  said  my  mother. — 

Though  I  should  be  sorry  for  that,  added  my  father  : 
and  so  the  debate  stopped  again. 


ii8  THE  STOKY  OF 

They  should  be  of  leather,  said  iny  father,  turning 
him  about  again. — 

They  will  last  him,  said  my  mother,  the  longest. 

But  he  can  have  no  linings  to  'em,  replied  my 
father. — 

He  cannot,  said  my  mother. 

'Twere  better  to  have  them  of  fustian,  quoth  my 
father. 

Nothing  can  be  better,  quoth  my  mother. 

— Except  dimity— replied  my  father  : — 'Tis  best  of 
all — replied  my  mother. 

One  must  not  give  him  his  death,  however — inter- 
rupted my  father. 

By  no  means,  said  my  mother  :— and  so  the  dia- 
logue stood  still  again. 

I  am  resolved,  however,  quoth  my  father,  breaking 
silence  the  fourth  time,  he  shall  have  no  pockets 
in  them. 

There  is  no  occasion  for  any,  said  my  mother. 

I  mean  in  his  coat  and  waistcoat,— cried  my  father. 

I  mean  so  too — replied  my  mother. 

Though  if  he  gets  a  gig  or  a  top — poor  souls !  it 
is  a  crown  and  a  sceptre  to  them— they  should  have 
where  to  secure  it. 

Order  it  as  you  please,  Mr.  Shandy,  replied  my 
mother. 

But  don't  you  think  it  right  ?  added  my  father. 
pressing  the  point  home  to  her. 

Perfectly,  said  my  mother,  if  it  pleases  you,  Mr. 
Shandy. 

There's  for  you  !  cried  my  father,  losing  temper- 
Pleases  me ! — You  never  will  distinguish,  Mrs. 
Shandy,  nor  shall  I  ever  teach  you  to  do  it,  betwixt  a 
point  of  pleasure  and  a  point  of  convenience. — This 
was  on  the  Sunday  night ;  and  further  this  chapter 
sayeth  not. 

After  my  father  had  debated  the  affair  of  the 
breeches  with  my  mother,  he  consulted  Albertus 


MY  UNCLE  TOBY.  119 

Rubenius  upon  it ;  and  Albertus  Rubenius  used  my 
father  ten  times  worse  in  the  consultation  (if  possible) 
than  even  my  father  had  used  my  mother :  for  as 
Rubenius  had  wrote  a  quarto  express,  De  re  Vestiaria 
Veterum — it  was  Rubenius's  business  to  have  given 
my  father  some  lights.  On  the  contrary,  my  father 
might  as  well  have  thought  of  extracting  the  seven 
cardinal  virtues  out  of  a  long  beard,  as  of  extracting 
a  single  word  out  of  Rubenius  upon  the  subject. 

Upon  every  other  article  of  ancient  dress,  Rubenius 
was  very  communicative  to  my  father ; — gave  him  a 
full  and  satisfactory  account  of 

The  Toga,  or  loose  gown, 

The  Chlamys. 

The  Eplwd. 

The  Tunica,  or  jacket. 

The  Synthesis. 

The  Paeirala. 

The  Lacema,  with  its  Cucullus. 
—But  what  are  all  these  to  the  breeches  ?  said  my 
father. 

Rubenius  threw  him  down,  upon  the  counter,  all 
kinds  of  shoes  which  had  been  in  fashion  with  the 
Romans  : — 

There  was,  The  open  shoe. 

The  close  shoe. 

The  slip  shoe. 

The  wooden  shoe. 

The  sock. 

The  buskin. 
And  The  military  shoe,  with  hob  nails  in  it, 

which  Juvenal  takes  notice  of. 
There  were,  The  clogs. 

The  pattens. 

The  pantoufles. 

The  brogues. 

The  sandals,  with  latchets  to  them. 


120  THE  STOEY  OF 

There  was,  The  felt  shoe. 
The  linen  shoe. 
The  laced  shoe. 
The  braided  shoe. 
The  calceus  insisus. 
And  The  calceus  rostratus. 

Rubenius  showed  my  father  how  well  they  all 
fitted, — in  what  manner  they  laced  on, — with  what 
points,  straps,  thongs,  latchets,  ribands,  jaggs,  and 
ends. — 

— But  I  want  to  be  informed  about  the  breeches, 
said  my  father. 

Albertus  Rubenius  informed  my  father  that  the 
Romans  manufactured  stuffs  of  various  fabrics  : — 
some  plain,^some  striped, — others  diapered  through- 
out the  whole  contexture  of  the  wool  with  silk  and 
gold — That  linen  did  not  begin  to  be  in  common  use 
till  towards  the  declension  of  the  empire,  when  the 
Egyptians,  coming  to  settle  amongst  them,  brought  it 
into  vogue. 

That  persons  of  quality  and  fortune  distinguished 
themselves  by  the  fineness  and  whiteness  of  their 
clothes  ;  which  colour  (next  to  purple,  which  was 
appropriated  to  the  great  offices)  they  most  affected, 
and  wore  on  their  birth-days  and  public  rejoicings. — 
that  it  appeared,  from  the  best  nistorians  of  those 
times,  that  they  frequently  sent  their  clothes  to  the 
fuller,  to  be  cleaned  and  whitened  : — but  that  the  in- 
ferior people,  to  avoid  that  expense,  generally  wore 
brown  clothes,  and  of  a  something  coarser  texture, — 
till  towards  the  beginning  of  Augustus's  reign,  when 
the  slave  dressed  like  his  master,  and  almost  every 
distinction  of  habiliment  was  lost,  but  the  Lotus 
claims. 

And  what  was  the  Latus  clavus  ?  said  my  father. 

Rubenius  told  him  that  the  point  was  still  litigating 
amongst  the  learned  : — that  Egnatius,  Sigonius,  Bos- 
sius  Ticinensis,  Baysius,  Budaeus,  Salmasius,  Lipsius 
Lazius,  Isaac  Causabon,  and  Joseph  Scaliger,  all 


MY  UNCLE  TOBY.  121 

differed  from  each  other, — and  he  from  them :  that 
some  took  it  to  be  the  button  -some  the  coat  itself 
— others  only  the  colour  of  it  : — that  the  great  Baysius, 
in  his  "  Wardrobe  of  the  Ancients,"  chap.  12, — honestly 
said  he  knew  not  what  it  was. — whether  a  tibula, — a 
stud, — a  button, — a  loop, — a  buckle, — or  clasps  and 
keepers. — 

My  father  lost  the  horse,  but  not  the  saddle. — They 
are  hooks  and  eyes,  said  my  father—  and  with  hooks 
and  eyes  he  ordered  my  breeches  to  be  made. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  STORY  OF  LE  FEVER. 

j|OU  see  'tis  high  time,  said  my  father,  ad- 
dressing himself  equally  to  my  uncle 
Toby  and  Yorick,  to  take  this  young  crea- 
ture out  of  these  women's  hands,  and  put 
him  into  those  of  a  private  governor.  Marcus  Anto- 
nius  provided  fourteen  governors  all  at  once  to  super- 
intend his  son  Commodus's  education, — and  in  six 
weeks  he  cashiered  five  of  them. 

I  will  have  him,  continued  my  father,  cheerful, 
facete",  jovial  •  at  the  same  time  prudent,  attentive  to 
business,  vigilant,  acute,  argute,  inventive,  quick  in 
resolving  doubts  and  speculative  questions  • — he  shall 
be  wise  and  judicious,  and  learned. — And  why  not 
humble,  and  moderate,  and  gentle  tempered,  and  good  1 
said  Yorick. — And  why  not,  cried  my  uncle  Toby,  free, 
and  generous,  and  bountiful,  and  brave  1 — He  shall, 
my  dear  Toby,  replied  my  father,  getting  up  and 
shaking  him  by  his  hand.— Then,  brother  Shandy, 
answered  my  uncle  Toby,  raising  himself  off  the  chair, 
and  laying  down  his  pipe  to  take  hold  of  my  father's 
other  hand, — I  humbly  beg  I  may  recommend  poor  Le 
Fever's  son  to  you ; — a  tear  of  joy  of  the  first  water 
sparkled  in  my  uncle  Toby's  eye,  and  another,  the 
fellow  to  it,  in  the  corporal's,  as  the  proposition  was 
made  :— you  will  see  why  when  you  read  Le  Fever's 
story. 


MY  UNCLE  TOST.  123 

It  was  some  time  in  the  summer  of  that  year  in 
which  Dendermond  was  taken  by  the  allies, — which 
was  about  seven  years  before  my  father  came  into  the 
country, — and  about  as  many  after  the  time  that  my 
uncle  Toby  and  Trim  had  privately  decamped  from  my 
father's  house  in  town,  in  order  to  lay  some  of  the 
finest  sieges  to  some  of  the  finest  fortified  cities  in  Eu- 
rope— when  my  uncle  Toby  was  one  evening  getting 
his  supper,  with  Trim  sitting  behind  him  at  a  small 
sideboard, — I  say,  sitting — for  in  consideration  of  the 
corporal's  lame  knee  (which  sometimes  gave  him  exqui- 
site pain) — when  my  uncle  Toby  dined  or  supped  alone, 
he  would  never  suffer  the  corporal  to  stand ;  and  the  poor 
fellow's  veneration  for  his  master  was  such,  that,  with 
a  proper  artillery,  my  uncle  Toby  could  have  taken 
Dendermond  itself  with  less  trouble  than  he  was  able 
to  gain  this  point  over  him  ;  for  many  a  time  when 
my  uncle  Toby  supposed  the  corporal's  leg  was  at 
rest,  he  would  look  back,  and  detect  him  standing  be- 
hind him  with  the  most  dutiful  respect :  this  bred 
more  little  squabbles  betwixt  them,  than  all  other 
causes  for  five-and-twenty  years  together  ;  but  this 
is  neither  here  nor  there — why  do  I  mention  it  1  Ask 
my  pen, — it  governs  me, — I  govern  not  it. 

He  was  one  evening  sitting  thus  at  his  supper,  when 
the  landlord  of  a  little  inn  in  the  village  came  into 
the  parlour  with  an  empty  phial  in  his  hand,  to  beg  a 
glass  or  two  of  sack  ;  ?Tis  for  a  poor  gentleman,  I  think, 
of  the  army,  said  the  landlord,  who  has  been  taken  ill 
at  my  house  four  days  ago,  and  has  never  held  up  his 
head  since,  or  had  a  desire  to  taste  anything,  till  just 
now,  that  he  has  a  fancy  for  a  glass  of  sack  and  a  thin 
toast— I  think,  says  he,  taking  his  hand  from  his  fore- 
head, it  would  comfort  me. 

If  I  could  neither  beg,  borrow,  or  buy  such  a  thing, 
— added  the  landlord, — I  would  almost  steal  it  for  the 
poor  gentleman,  he  is  so  ill.  I  hope  in  God  he  will 
still  mend,  continued  he, — we  are  all  of  us  concerned 
for  him. 


124  THE  STORY  OF 

Thou  art  a  good-natured  soul,  I  will  answer  for 
thee,  cried  niy  uncle  Toby  ;  and  thou  shalt  drink  the 
poor  gentleman's  health  in  a  glass  of  sack  thyself, — 
and  take  a  couple  of  bottles  with  my  service,  and  tell 
him  he  is  heartily  welcome  to  them,  and  to  a  dozen 
more  if  they  will  do  him  good. 

Though  I  am  persuaded,  said  my  uncle  Toby,  as  the 
landlord  shut  the  door,  he  is  a  very  compassionate 
fellow, — Trim, — yet  I  cannot  help  entertaining  a  high 
opinion  of  his  guest  too ;  there  must  be  something 
more  than  common  in  him,  that  in  so  short  a  time 
should  win  so  much  upon  the  affections  of  his  host. — 
And  of  his  whole  family,  added  the  corporal,  for  they 
are  all  concerned  for  him. — Step  after  him,  said  my 
uncle  Toby, — do  Trim, — and  ask  if  he  knows  his 
name. 

— I  have  quite  forgot  it,  truly,  said  the  landlord, 
coming  back  into  the  parlour  with  the  corporal, — but  I 
can  ask  his  son  again.  Has  he  a  son  with  him  then  1 
said  my  uncle  Toby.  A  boy,  replied  the  landlord,  of 
about  eleven  or  twelve  years  of  age ; — but  the  poor 
creature  has  tasted  almost  as  little  as  his  father ;  he 
does  nothing  but  mourn  and  lament  for  him  night  and 
day : — He  has  not  stirred  from  the  bedside  these  two 
days. 

My  uncle  Toby  laid  down  his  knife  and  fork,  and 
thrust  his  plate  from  before  him,  as  the  landlord  gave 
him  the  account ;  and  Trim,  without  being  ordered, 
took  away  without  saying  one  word,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  after  brought  him  his  pipe  and  tobacco. 

Stay  in  the  room  a  little,  said  my  uncle  Toby. 

Trim  !  -  said  my  uncle  Toby,  after  he  lighted  his 
pipe,  and  smoked  about  a  dozen  whiffs.  Trim  came  in 
front  of  his  master  and  made  his  bow ; — my  uncle 
Toby  smoked  on,  and  said  no  more. — Corporal !  said 
my  uncle  Toby—the  corporal  made  his  bow. — My 
uncle  Toby  proceeded  no  further,  but  finished  his 
pipe. 


MY  UNCLE  TOBY.  125 

Trim  !  said  my  uncle  Toby,  I  have  a  project  in  my 
head,  as  it  is  a  bad  night,  of  wrapping  myself  up  warm 
in  my  roquelaure,  and  paying  a  visit  to  this  poor 
gentleman. — Your  honours  roquelaure,  replied  the 
corporal,  has  not  once  been  had  on  since  the  night 
before  your  honour  received  your  wound,  when  we 
mounted  guard  in  the  trenches  before  the  gate  of  St. 
Nicholas  ; — and  besides  it  is  so  cold  and  rainy  a  night, 
that  what  with  the  roquelaure,  and  what  with  the 
weather,  'twill  be  enough  to  give  your  honour  your 
death,  and  bring  on  your  honour's  torment  in  your 
groin.  I  fear  so,  replied  my  uncle  Toby ;  but  I  am 
not  at  rest  in  my  mind,  Trim,  since  the  account  the 
landlord  has  given  me.  I  wish  I  had  not  known  so 
much  of  this  affair,  added  my  uncle  Toby, — or  that  I 
had  known  more  of  it  : — How  shall  we  manage  it  1 
Leave  it,  an't  please  your  honour,  to  me,  quoth  the 
corporal ;— I'll  take  my  ha.t  and  stick,  and  go  to  the 
house  and  reconnoitre,  and  act  accordingly  ;  and  I  will 
bring  your  honour  a  full  account  in  an  hour.  Thou 
shalt  go,  Trim,  said  my  uncle  Toby,  and  here's  a  shil- 
ling for  thee  to  drink  with  his  servant. — I  shall  get  it 
all  out  of  him,  said  the  corporal,  shutting  the  door. 

My  uncle  Toby  filled  his  second  pipe ;  and  had  it 
not  been,  that  he  now  and  then  wandered  from  the 
point,  with  considering  whether  it  was  not  full  as  well 
to  have  the  curtain  of  the  tenaille  a  straight  line,  as  a 
crooked  one, — he  might  be  said  to  have  thought  of 
nothing  else  but  poor  Le  Fever  and  his  boy  the  whole 
time  he  smoked  it. 

It  was  not  till  my  uncle  Toby  had  knocked  the  ashes 
out  of  his  third  pipe,  that  corporal  Trim  returned  from 
the  inn,  and  gave  him  the  following  account. 

I  despaired  at  first,  said  the  corporal,  of  being  able 
to  bring  back  your  honour  any  kind  of  intelligence 
concerning  the  poor  sick  lieutenant. — Is  he  in  the  army 
then  ?  said  my  uncle  Toby. — He  is,  said  the  corporal. 
— And  in  what  regiment  ]  said  my  uncle  Toby. — I'll 


i26  THE  STOUT  OF 

tell  your  honour,  replied  the  corporal,  everything 
straight  forwards,  as  I  learnt  it. — Then,  Trim,  I'll  fill 
another  pipe,  said  my  uncle  Toby,  and  not  interrupt 
thee  till  thou  hast  done  ;  so  sit  down  at  thy  ease,  Trim, 
in  the  window-seat,  and  begin  thy  story  again.  The 
corporal  made  his  old  bow,  which  generally  spoke  as 
plain  as  a  bow  could  speak  it — Your  honour  is  good  : — 
and  having  done  that,  he  sat  down,  as  he  was  ordered, 
— and  began  the  story  to  my  uncle  Toby  over  again  in 
pretty  near  the  same  words. 

I  despaired  at  first,  said  the  corporal,  of  being  able 
to  bring  back  any  intelligence  to  your  honour  about 
the  lieutenant  and  his  son  ;  for  when  I  asked  where 
his  servant  was,  from  whom  I  made  myself  sure  of 
knowing  everything  which  was  proper  to  be  asked — 
That's  a  right  distinction,  Trim,  said  my  uncle  Toby — 
I  was  answered,  an'  please  your  honour,  that  he  had 
no  servant  with  him  ; — that  he  had  come  to  the  inn 
with  hired  horses,  which,  upon  finding  himself  unable 
to  proceed  (to  join,  I  suppose  the  regiment)  he  had  dis- 
missed the  morning  after  he  came. — If  I  get  better, 
my  dear,  said  he,  as  he  gave  his  purse  to  his  son  to 
pay  the  man,  we  can  hire  horses  from  hence.— But 
alas  !  the  poor  gentleman  will  never  get  from  hence, 
said  the  landlady  to  me, — for  I  heard  the  death-watch 
all  night  long  ; — and  when  he  dies,  the  youth,  his  son, 
will  certainly  die  with  him  ;  for  he  is  broken-hearted 
already. 

I  was  hearing  this  account,  continued  the  corporal, 
when  the  youth  came  into  the  kitchen,  to  order  the 
thin  toast  the  landlord  spoke  of ; — but  I  will  do  it  for 
my  father  myself,  said  the  youth. — Pray  let  me  save 
you  the  trouble,  young  gentleman,  said  I,  taking  up  a 
fork  for  the  purpose,  and  offering  him  my  chair  to  sit 
down  upon  by  the  fire,  whilst  I  did  it. — I  believe, 
sir,  said  he,  very  modestly,  I  can  please  him  best 
myself. — I  am  sure,  said  I,  his  honour  will  not  like 
the  toast  the  worse  for  being  toasted  by  an  old  soldier. 


MY  UNCLE  TOBY.  127 

—  The  youth  took  hold  of  my  hand,  and  instantly 
burst  into  tears.  —  Poor  youth  !  said  my  uncle  Toby, 
he  has  been  bred  up  from  an  infant  in  the  army,  and 
the  name  of  a  soldier,  Trim,  sounded  in  his  ears  like 
the  name  of  a  friend  ;  —  I  wish  I  had  him  here. 

—  I  never  in  the  longest  march,  said  the  corporal, 
had  so  great  a  mind  to  my  dinner,  as  I  had  to  cry  with 
him  for  company  :  what  could  be  the  matter  with  me, 
an'  please  your  honour  1  Nothing  in  the  world,  Trim, 
said  my  uncle  Toby,  blowing  his  nose  —  but  that  thou 
art  a  good-natured  fellow. 

When  I  gave  him  the  toast,  continued  the  corporal, 
I  thought  it  was  proper  to  tell  him  I  was  Captain 
Shandy's  servant,  and  that  your  honour  (though  a 
stranger)  was  extremely  concerned  for  his  father  ;  — 
and  that  if  there  was  anything  in  your  house  or  cellar 

—  (and  thou  might'st  have  added  my  purse  too,  said 
my  uncle  Toby)  —  he  was  heartily  welcome  to  it  :  —  he 
made  a  very  low  bow  (which  was  meant  to  your  honour) 
but  no  answer,  —  for  his  heart  was  full  —  so  he  went 
upstairs  with  the  toast  :  —  I  warrant  you,  my  dear, 
said  I,  as  I  opened  the  kitchen  door,  your  father  will 
be  well  again.  —  Mr.  Yorick's  curate  was  smoking  a 

Eipe  by  the  kitchen  fire,  —  but  said  not  a  word  good  or 
ad  to  comfort  the  youth.  —  I  thought  it  wrong,  added 
the  corporal.  —  I  think  so  too,  said  my  uncle  Toby. 

When  the  lieutenant  had  taken  his  glass  of  sack 
and  toast,  he  felt  himself  a  little  revived,  and  sent 
down  into  the  kitchen  to  let  me  know,  that  in  about 
ten  minutes  he  should  be  glad  if  I  would  step  upstairs. 

—  I  believe,  said  the  landlord,  he  is  going  to  say  his 
rayers,  —  for  there  was  a  book  laid  upon  the  chair  by 
is  bedside,  and  as  I  shut  the  door,  I  saw  his  son  take 

up  a  cushion. 

I  thought,  said  the  curate,  that  you  gentlemen  of 
the  army,  Mr.  Trim,  never  said  your  prayers  at  all. 

—  I  heard  the  poor  gentleman  say  his  prayers  last 
night,  said  the  landlady,  very  devoutly,  and  with 


p 
h 


128  THE  STOEY  OF 

my  own  ears,  or  I  could  not  have  believed  it. — Are 
you  sure  of  it  1  replied  the  curate.  —  A  soldier,  an' 
please  your  reverence,  said  I,  prays  as  often  (of  his 
own  accord)  as  a  parson ; — and  when  he  is  fighting  for 
his  king,  and  for  his  own  life,  and  for  his  honour  too, 
he  has  the  most  reason  to  pray  to  God  of  any  one  in 
the  whole  world. — 'Twas  well  said  of  thee,  Trim,  said 
my  uncle  Toby. — But  when  a  soldier,  said  I,  an'  please 
your  reverence,  has  been  standing  for  twelve  hours 
together  in  the  trenches,  up  to  his  knees  in  cold  water, 
— or  engaged,  said  I,  for  months  together  in  long  and 
dangerous  marches ; — harassed,  perhaps,  in  his  rear 
to-day ; — harassing  others  to-morrow ; — detached  here ; 
—  countermanded  there  ; — resting  this  night  out  upon 
his  arms  ; — beat  up  in  his  shirt  the  next ; — benumbed 
in  his  joints  ; — perhaps  without  straw  in  his  tent  to 
kneel  on ; — must  say  his  prayers  how  and  when  he 
can. — I  believe,  said  I, — for  I  was  piqued,  quoth  the 
corporal,  for  the  reputation  of  the  army, — I  believe, 
an'  please  your  reverence,  said  I,  that  when  a  soldier 
gets  time  to  pray, — he  j>rays  as  heartily  as  a  parson, — 
though  not  with  all  his  fuss  and  hypocrisy. — Thou 
should' st  not  have  said  that,  Trim,  said  my  uncle  Toby, 
— for  God  only  knows  who  is  a  hypocrite,  and  who  is 
not  :  —  At  the  great  and  general  review  of  us  all, 
corporal,  at  the  day  of  judgment  (and  not  till  then) 
it  will  be  seen  who  has  done  their  duties  in  this  world, 
and  who  has  not ;  and  we  shall  be  advanced,  Trim, 
accordingly. — I  hope  we  shall,  said  Trim. — It  is  in  the 
Scripture,  said  my  uncle  Toby  ;  and  I  will  show  it 
thee  to-morrow : — In  the  meantime  we  may  depend 
upon  it,  Trim,  for  our  comfort,  said  my  uncle  Toby, 
that  God  Almighty  is  so  good  and  just  a  governor  of 
the  world,  that  if  we  have  but  done  our  duties  in  it, 
it  will  never  be  inquired  into,  whether  we  have  done 
them  in  a  red  coat  or  a  black  one. — I  hope  not ;  said 
the  corporal— But  go  on,  Trim,  said  my  uncle  Toby, 
with  thy  story. 


MY  UNCLE  TOBY.  129 

When  I  went  up,  continued  the  corporal,  into. the 
lieutenant's  room,  which  I  did  not  do  till  the  expiration 
of  the  ten  minutes,  he  was  lying  in  his  bed  with  his  head 
raised  upon  his  hand,  with  his  elbow  upon  the  pillow, 
and  a  clean  white  cambric  handkerchief  beside  it : — 
The  youth  was  just  stooping  down  to  take  up  the 
Cushion,  upon  which  I  supposed  he  had  been  kneeling, 
— the  book  was  laid  upon  the  bed, — and  as  he  rose,  in 
taking  up  the  cushion  with  one  hand,  he  reached  oiit 
his  other  to  take  it  away  at  the  same  time.— Let  it 
remain  there,  my  dear,  said  the  lieutenant. 

He  did  not  offer  to  speak  to  me,  till  I  had  walked 
Up  close  to  his  bedside  : — If  you  are  Captain  Shandy's 
servant,  said  he,  you  must  present  my  thanks  to  your 
master,  with  my  little  boy's  thanks  along  with  them, 
for  his  courtesy  to  me  ; — if  he  was  of  Leven's— said 
the  lieutenant. — I  told  him.  your  honour  was — Then, 
said  he,  I  served  three  campaigns  with  him  in  FlanderSj 
and  remember  him, — but  'tis  most  likely,  as  I  had  not 
the  honour  of  any  acquaintance  with  him,  that  he 
knows  nothing  of  me.  You  will  tell  him,  however, 
that  the  person  his  good  nature  has  laid  under  obli- 
gations to  him,  is  one  Le  Fever,  a  lieutenant  in  Angus's 
— but  he  knows  me  not,  —  said  he,  a  second  time, 
musing  ;  possibly  he  may  my  story — added  he — pray 
tell  the  captain,  I  was  the  ensign  at  Breda,  whose  wife 
was  most  unfortunately  killed  with  a  musket  shot,  as 
she  lay  in  my  arms  in  my  tent. — I  remember  the  story, 
an't  please  your  honour,  said  I,  very  well.— Do  you  so? 
said  he,  wiping  his  eyes  with  his  handkerchief, — then 
well  may  I. — In  saying  this  he  drew  a  little  ring  out 
of  his  bosom,  which  seemed  tied  with  a  black  ribband 
about  his  neck,  and  kissed  it  twice. — Here,  Billy,  said 
he, — the  boy  flew  across  the  room  to  the  bedside, — and 
falling  down  upon  his  knee,  took  the  ring  in  his  hand, 
and  kissed  it  too — then  kissed  his  father,  and  sat  down 
upon  the  bed  and  wept. 

9 


i3o  THE  STOUT  OF 

I  wish,  said  my  uncle  Toby,  with  a  deep  sigh— I 
wish,  Trim,  I  was  asleep. 

Your  honour,  replied  the  corporal,  is  too  much  con- 
cerned ; — shall  I  pour  your  honour  out  a  glass  of  sack 
to  your  pipe  1 — Do,  Trim,  said  my  uncle  Toby. 

I  remember,  said  my  uncle  Toby,  sighing  again,  the 
story  of  the  ensign  and  his  wife,  with  a  circumstance 
his  modesty  omitted  : — and  particularly  well  that  he, 
as  well  as  she,  upon  some  account  or  other  (I  forgot 
what)  was  universally  pitied  by  the -whole  regiment  ; 
—but  finish  the  story  thou  art  upon  :— 'tis  finished 
already,  said  the  corporal — for  I  could  stay  no  longer 
— so  wished  his  honour  a  good  night ;  young  Le  Fever 
rose  from  off  the  bed,  and  saw  me  to  the  bottom  of 
the  stairs  ;  and  as  we  went  down  together,  told  me, 
they  had  come  from  Ireland,  and  were  on  their  route 
to  join  the  regiment  in  Flanders. — But  alas  !  said  the 
corporal — the  lieutenant's  last  day's  march  is  over. — 
Then  what  is  to  become  of  his  poor  boy  ?  cried  my 
uncle  Toby. 

It  was  to  my  uncle  Toby's  eternal  honour— though 
I  tell  it  only  for  the  sake  of  those  who,  when  cooped 
in  betwixt  a  natural  and  positive  law,  know  not  for 
their  souls  which  way  in  the  world  to  turn  themselves 
— that  notwithstanding  my  uncle  Toby  was  warmly 
engaged  at  that  time  in  carrying  on  the  siege  of 
Dendermond,  parallel  with  the  allies,  who  pressed 
theirs  on  so  vigorously,  that  they  scarce  allowed  him 
time  to  get  his  dinner — that  nevertheless  he  gave  up 
Dendermond,  though  he  had  already  made  a  lodgment 
upon  the  counterscarp  ; — and  bent  his  whole  thoughts 
towards  the  private  distress  at  the  inn  ;  and,  except 
that  he  ordered  the  garden  gate  to  be  bolted  up,  by 
which  he  might  be  said  to  have  turned  the  siege  cf 
Dendermond  into  a  blockade, — he  left  Dendermoud 
to  itself — to  be  relieved  or  not  by  the  French  king,  as 
the  French  king  thought  good  ;  and  only  considered 


3IY  UNCLE  TOST.  131 

lipw  lie  himself  should  relieve  the  poor  lieutenant  and 
his  son. 

— That  kind  Being,  who  is  a  friend  to  the  friendless, 
shall  recompense  thee  for  this. 

Thou  has  left  this  matter  short,  said  my  uncle  Toby, 
to  the  corporal,  as  he  was  putting  him  to  bed — and  I 
will  tell  thee  in  what,  Trim.— In  the  first  place,  when 
thou  mad'st  an  offer  of  my  services  to  Le  Fever — as 
sickness  and  travelling  are  both  expensive,  and  thou 
knowest  he  was  but  a  poor  lieutenant,  with  a  son  to 
subsist  as  well  as  himself,  out  of  his  pay — that  thou 
did'st  not  make  an  offer  to  him  of  my  purse  ;  because, 
had  he  stood  in  need,  thou  knowest,  Trim,  he  had  been 
as  welcome  to  it  as  myself. — Your  honour  knows,  said 
the  corporal,  I  had  no  orders.  True,  quoth  my  uncle 
Toby — thou  didst  very  right,  Trim,  as  a  soldier — but 
certainly  very  wrong  as  a  man. 

In  the  second  place,  for  which,  indeed,  thou  hast  the 
same  excuse,  continued  my  uncle  Toby — when  thou 
offeredst  him  whatever  was  in  my  house— thou  shouldst 
have  offered  him  my  house  too  : — A  sick  brother  officer 
should  have  the  best  quarters,  Trim  ;  and  if  we  had 
him  with  us— we  could  tend  and  look  to  him : — Thou  art 
an  excellent  nurse  thyself,  Trim — and  what  with  thy 
care  of  him,  and  the  old  woman's,  and  his  boy's,  and 
mine  together,  we  might  recruit  him  again  at  once,  and 
set  him  upon  his  legs. — 

— In  a  fortnight  or  three  weeks,  added  my  uncle  Toby, 
smiling — he  might  march. — He  will  never  march,  an' 
please  your  honour,  in  this  world,  said  the  corporal  : — 
He  will  march,  said  my  uncle  Toby,  rising  up  from  the 
side  of  the  bed,  with  one  shoe  off : — An'  please  your 
honour,  said  the  corporal,  he  will  never  march  but  to 
his  grave : — He  shall  march,  cried  my  uncle  Toby, 
marching  the  foot  which  had  a  shoe  on,  though  with- 
out advancing  an  inch — he  shall  march  to  his  regiment. 
— He  cannot  stand  it,  said  the  corporal ;— He  shall  be 
supported,  said  my  uncle  Toby  ; — He'll  drop  at  last, 

9—2 


132 


THE  STORY  OF 


said  the  corporal,  and  what  will  become  of  his  boy  1 
— He  shall  not  drop,  said  iny  uncle  Toby,  firmly. — 
A-well-o'-day, — do  what  we  can  for  him,  said  Trim, 
maintaining  his  point,— the  poor  soul  will  die  : — He 
shall  not  die,  by  G ,  cried  my  uncle  Toby. 

— The  accusing  spirit  which  flew  up  to  heaven's  chan- 
cery with  the  oath,  blushed  as  he  gave  it  in — and  the 
recording  angel  as  he  wrote  it  down,  dropped  a  tear 
upon  the  word,  and  blotted  it  out  for  ever. 

My  uncle  Toby  went  to  his  bureau — put  his  purse 
into  his  breeches  pocket,  and  having  ordered  the  cor- 
poral to  go  early  in  the  morning  for  a  physician— he 
went  to  bed,  and  fell  asleep. 

The  sun  looked  bright  the  morning  after,  to  every 
eye  in  the  village  but  Le  Fever's  and  his  afflicted  son's ; 
the  hand  of  death  pressed  heavy  upon  his  eyelids— and 
hardly  could  the  wheel  at  the  cistern  turn  round  its 
circle, — when  my  uncle  Toby,  who  had  rose  up  aii 
hour  before  his  wonted  time,  entered  the  lieutenant's 
room,  and  without  preface  or  apology,  sat  himself 
down  upon  the  chair  by  the  bedside,  and,  independ- 
ently of  all  modes  and  customs,  opened  the  curtain  in 
the  manner  an  old  friend  and  brother  officer  would 
have  done  it,  and  asked  him  how  he  did — how  he  had 
rested  in  the  night — what  was  his  complaint — where 
was  his  pain — and  what  he  could  do  to  help  him  : — and, 
without  giving  him  time  to  answer  any  one  of  the 
inquiries,  went  on  and  told  him  of  the  little  plan  which 
he  had  been  concerting  with  the  corporal  the  night 
before  for  him. 

You  shall  go  home  directly,  Le  Fever,  said  my  uncle 
Toby,  to  my  house,— and  we'll  send  for  a  doctor  to  see 
what's  the  matter — and  we'll  have  an  apothecary—  and 
the  corporal  shall  be  your  nurse  ; — and  I'll  be  your 
servant,  Le  Fever. 

There  was  a  frankness  in  niy  uncle  Toby — not  the 
effect  of  familiarity— but  the  cause  of  it — which  let 
you  at  once  into  his  soul,  and  showed  you  the  good- 


MY  UNCLE  TOBY.  133 

ness  of  his  nature  ;  to  this,  there  was  something  in  his 
looks,  and  voice,  and  manner,  superadded,  which  eter- 
nally beckoned  to  the  unfortunate  to  come  and  take 
shelter  under  him  :  so  that  before  my  uncle  Toby  had 
half  finished  the  kind  offers  he  was  making  to  the 
father,  had  the  son  insensibly  pressed  up  close  to  his 
knees,  and  had  taken  hold  of  the  breast  of  his  coat, 
and  was  pulling  it  towards  him. — The  blood  and  spirits 
of  Le  Fevre,  which  were  waxing  cold  and  slow  within 
him,  and  were  retreating  to  their  last  citadel,  the  heart 
— rallied  back, — the  film  forsook  his  eyes  for  a  moment 
— he  looked  up  wistfully  in  my  uncle  Toby's  face — then 
cast  a  look  upon  his  boy — and  that  ligament,  fine  as  it 
was — was  never  broken. 

Nature  instantly  ebbed  again— the  film  returned  to 
its  place — the  pulse  fluttered— stopped — went  on — 
throbbed — stopped  again — moved— stopped — shall  I 
go  on  ? — No. 


CHAPTER   X. 

MY  UNCLE  TOBY'S  FORTIFICATIONS. 

j|EAVE  we  then  the  breeches  in  the  tailor's 
hands,  with  my  father  standing  over  him 
with  his  cane,  reading  him  as  he  sat  at 
work  a  lecture  upon  the  latus  clavus,  and 
pointing  to  the  precise  part  of  the  waistband  where 
he  was  determined  to  have  it  sewed  on. 

Leave  we  my  mother — (truest  of  all  the  Poco- 
curantes of  her  sex !) — careless  about  it,  as  about 
everything  else  in  the  world  which  concerned  her ; 
that  is, — indifferent  whether  it  was  done  this  way  or 
that, — provided  it  was  but  done  at  all. 

Leave  we  Slop  likewise. 

Let  us  leave,  if  possible,  myself: — but,  'tis  impossi- 
ble ; — I  must  go  along  with  you  to  the  end  of  the 
work. 

If  the  reader  has  not  a  clear  conception  of  the 
rood  and  a  half  of  ground  which  lay  at  the  bottom 
of  my  uncle  Toby's  kitchen  garden,  and  which  was 
the  scene  of  so  many  of  his  delicious  hours — the  fault 
is  not  in  me — but  in  his  imagination  :  for  I  am  sure 
I  gave  him  so  minute  a  description,  I  was  almost 
ashamed  of  it. 

My  uncle  Toby  came  clown,  as  the  reader  has  been 


MY  UNCLE  TOBY. 


135 


informed,  with  plans  along  with  him  of  almost  every 
fortified  town  in  Italy  and  Flanders  ;  so  let  the  Duke 
of  Marlborough,  or  the  allies,  have  set  down  before 
what  town  they  pleased,  my  uncle  Toby  was  prepared 
for  them. 

His  way,  which  was  the  simplest  one  in  the  world, 
was  this  ;  as  soon  as  ever  a  town  was  invested — (but 
sooner  when  the  design  was  known) — to  take  the  plan 
of  it  (let  it  be  what  town  it  would)  and  enlarge  it 
upon  a  scale  to  the  exact  size  of  his  bowling  green  ; 
upon  the  surface  of  which,  by  means  of  a  large  roll 
of  packthread  and  a  number  of  small  piquets  driven 
into  the  ground,  at  the  several  angles  and  redans,  he 
transferred  the  lines  from  his  paper  ;  then  taking  the 
profile  of  the  place,  with  its  works,  to  determine  the 
depths  and  slopes  of  the  ditches,  the  talus  of  the 
glacis,  and  the  precise  height  of  the  several  banquets, 
parapets,  &c.,  he  set  the  corporal  to  work,  and  sweetly 
went  it  on  : — The  nature  of  the  soil — the  nature  of 
the  work  itself — and  above  all,  the  good  nature  of 
my  uncle  Toby  sitting  by  from  morning  to  night,  and 
chatting  kindly  with  the  corporal  upon  past-done 
deeds — left  Labour  little  else  but  the  ceremony  of  the 
name. 

When  the  place  was  finished  in  this  manner,  and 
put  into  a  proper  posture  of  defence — it  was  invested 
— and  my  uncle  Toby  and  the  corporal  began  to  run 
their  first  parallel.  I  beg  I  may  not  be  interrupted 
in  my  story,  by  being  told  That  the  first  parallel 
should  be  at  least  three  hundred  toises  distant  from 
the  main  .body  of  the  place,  and  that  I  have  not  left 
a  single  inch  for  it ;  for  my  uncle  Toby  took  the 
liberty  of  encroaching  upon  his  kitchen  garden,  for 
the  sake  of  enlarging  his  works  on  the  bowling-green, 
and  for  that  reason  generally  ran  his  first  and  second 
parallels  betwixt  two  rows  of  his  cabbages  and  his 
cauliflowers. 

When  the  town,  with  its  works,  was  finished,  my 


136  THE  STORY  OF 

uncle  Toby  and  the  corporal  began  to  run  their  first 
parallel,  not  at  random,  or  anyhow,  but  from  the 
same  points  and  distances  the  allies  had  begun  to 
run  theirs ;  and  regulating  their  approaches  and  at- 
tacks, by  the  accounts  my  uncle  Toby  received  from 
the  daily  papers,  they  went  on,  during  the  whole 
siege,  step  by  step  with  the  allies. 

When  the  Duke  of  Marlborough  made  a  lodgment, 
my  uncle  Toby  made  a  lodgment  too — And  when  the 
face  of  a  bastion  was  battered  down,  or  a  defence 
ruined,  the  corporal  took  his  mattock  and  did  as 
much,  and  so  on  ;  gaining  ground,  and  making  them- 
selves masters  of  the  works  one  after  another,  till  the 
town  fell  into  their  hands. 

To  one  who  took  pleasure  in  the  happy  state  of 
others,  there  could  not  have  been  a  greater  sight  in 
the  world,  than  on  a  post-morning,  in  which  a  prac- 
ticable breach  had  been  made  by  the  Duke  of  Marl- 
borough  in  the  main  body  of  the  place — to  have 
stood  behind  the  horn-beam  hedge,  and  observed  the 
spirit  with  which  my  uncle  Toby,  with  Trim  behind 
him,  sallied  forth ;  the  one  with  the  Gazette  in  his 
hand — the  other  with  a  spade  on  his  shoulder  to  exe- 
cute the  contents.  "What  an  honest  triumph  in  my 
uncle  Toby's  looks  as  he  marched  uj)  to  the  ramparts  ! 
What  intense  pleasure  swimming  in  his  eye  as  he 
stood  over  the  corporal,  reading  the  paragraph  ten 
times  over  to  him  as  he  was  at  work,  lest,  peradven- 
ture,  he  should  make  the  breach  an  inch  too  wide — or 
leave  it  an  inch  too  narrow.  But  when  the  chamade 
was  beat,  and  the  corporal  helped  my  uncle  up  it, 
and  followed  with  the  colours  in  his  hand,  to  fix  them 
upon  the  ramparts— Heaven  !  Earth !  Sea  ! — but 
wnat  avails  apostrophes'? — with  all  your  elements, - 
wet  or  dry,  ye  never  compounded  so  intoxicating  a 
draught. 

In  this  track  of  happiness  for  many  years,  without 
one  interruption  to  it,  except  now  and  then  when  the 


MY  UNCLE  TOST.  137 

wind  continued  to  blow  due  west  for  a  week  or  ten 
days  together,  which  detained  the  Flanders  mail, 
and  kept  them  so  long  in  torture — but  still  'twas 
the  torture  of  the  happy — In  this  track,  I  say,  did 
my  uncle  Toby  and  Trim  move  for  many  years, 
every  year  of  which,  and  sometimes  every  month, 
from  the  invention  01  either  one  or  the  other  of  them, 
adding  some  new  conceit  or  quirk  of  improvement  to 
their  operations,  which  always  opened  fresh  springs 
of  delight  in  carrying  them  on. 

The  first  year's  campaign  was  carried  on  from  be- 
ginning to  end  in  the  plain  and  simple  method  I've 
related. 

In  the  second  year,  in  which  my  uncle  Toby  took 
Liege  and  Kuremond,  he  thought  he  might  afford  the 
expense  of  four  handsome  draw-bridges,of  two  of  which 
I  have  given  an  exact  description  in  the  former  part 
of  my  work. 

At  the  latter  end  of  the  same  year  he  added  a 
couple  of  gates  with  portcullises : — these  last  were 
converted  afterwards  in  orgues,  as  the  better  thing  ; 
and  during  the  winter  of  the  same  year,  my  uncle 
Toby,  instead  of  a  new  suit  of  clothes,  which  he 
always  had  at  Christmas,  treated  himself  with  a 
handsome  sentry-box,  to  stand  at  the  corner  of  the 
bowling-green,  betwixt  which  point  and  the  foot  of 
the  glacis  there  was  left  a  little  kind  of  an  esplanade 
for  him  and  the  corporal  to  confer  and  hold  councils 
of  war  upon. 

— The  sentry-box  was  in  case  of  rain. 

All  these  were  painted  white  three  times  over  the 
ensuing  spring,  which  enabled  my  uncle  Toby  to  take 
the  field  with  great  splendour. 

My  father  would  often  say  to  Yorick,  that  if  any 
mortal  in  the  whole  universe  had  done  such  a  thing, 
except  his  brother  Toby,  it  would  have  been  looked 
upon  by  the  world  as  one  of  the  most  refined  satires 
upon  the  parade  and  prancing  manner  in  which 


138  THE  STORY  OF 

Louis  XIV.  from  the  beginning  of  the  war,  but  par- 
ticularly that  very  year,  had  taken  the  field. — But  'tis 
not  my  brother  Toby's  nature,  kind  soul !  my  father 
would  add,  to  insult  any  one. 

I  must  observe,  that  although  in  the  first  year's 
campaign  the  word  town  is  often  mentioned — yet 
there  was  no  town  at  that  time  within  the  polygon  ; 
that  addition  was  not  made  till  the  summer  follow- 
ing the  spring  in  which  the  bridges  and  sentry-box 
were  painted,  which  was  the  third  year  of  my  uncle 
Toby's  campaigns, — when  upon  his  taking  Amberg, 
Bonn,  and  Rhinberg,  and  Huy  and  Limbourg,  one 
after  another,  a  thought  came  into  the  corporal's  head, 
that  to  talk  of  taking  so  many  towns,  without  one  town 
to  show  for  it,  was  a  very  nonsensical  way  of  going  to 
work  ;  and  so  proposed  to  my  uncle  Toby,  that  they 
should  have  a  little  model  of  a  town  built  for  them,  to 
be  run  up  together  of  slit  deals,  and  then  painted,  and 
clapped  within  the  interior  polygon  to  serve  for  all. 

My  uncle  Toby  felt  the  good  of  the  project  in- 
stantly, and  instantly  agreed  to  it,  but  with  the  addi- 
tion of  two  singular  improvements,  of  which  he  was 
almost  as  proud,  as  if  he  had  been  the  original  in- 
ventor of  the  project  itself. 

The  one  was ;  to  have  the  town  built  exactly  in 
the  style  of  those  of  which  it  was  most  likely  to  be 
the  representative : — with  great  windows,  and  the 
gable  ends  of  the  houses  facing  the  streets,  &c.,  <tc. — 
as  those  in  Ghent  and  Bruges,  and  the  rest  of  the 
towns  in  Brabant  and  Flanders. 

The  other  was,  not  to  have  the  houses  run  up  to- 

f  ether,  as  the  corporal  proposed,  but  to  have  every 
ouse  independent,  to  hook  on,  or  off,  so  as  to  form 
into  the  plan  of  whatever  town  they  pleased.  This  - 
was  put  directly  into  hand,  and  many  and  many  a 
look  of  mutual  congratulation  was  exchanged  between 
my  uncle  Toby  and  the  corporal,  as  the  carpenter  did 
the  work. 


MY  UNCLE  TOBY.  139 

It  answered  prodigiously  the  next  summer — the 
town  was  a  perfect  Proteus — It  was  Landen,  and 
Trerebach,  and  Santlivet,  and  Drusen,  and  Hagenau 
— and  then  it  was  Ostend  and  Menin,  and  Aeth  and 
Dendermond. 

Surely  never  did  any  town  act  so  many  parts,  as  my 
uncle  Toby's  town  did. 

In  the  fourth  year,  my  uncle  Toby,  thinking  a  town 
looked  foolishly  without  a  church,  added  a  very  fine 
one  with  a  steeple.  Trim  was  for  having  bells  in  it ; 
my  uncle  Toby  said,  the  metal  had  better  be  cast  into 
cannon. 

This  led  the  way  to  the  next  campaign  for  half-a- 
dozen  brass  field-pieces — to  be  planted  three  and  three 
on  each  side  of  my  uncle  Toby's  sentry-box  ;  and  in  a 
short  time  these  led  the  way  for  a  train  of  somewhat 
larger — and  so  on — (as  must  always  be  the  case  in 
hobby- horsical  affairs)  from  pieces  of  half  an  inch 
bore,  till  it  came  at  last  to  my  father's  jack-boots. 

The  next  year,  which  was  that  in  which  Lisle  was 
besieged,  and  at  the  close  of  which  both  Ghent  and 
Bruges  fell  into  our  hands — my  uncle  Toby  was  sadly 
put  to  it  for  proper  ammunition  ;  I  say  proper  ammu- 
nition, because  his  great  artillery  would  not  bear 
powder  ;  and  'twas  well  for  the  Shandy  family  they 
would  not.  For  so  full  were  the  papers,  from  the  begin- 
ning to  the  end  of  the  siege,  of  the  incessant  firings 
kept  up  by  the  besiegers,  and  so  heated  was  my  uncle 
Toby's  imagination  with  the  accounts  of  them,  that 
he  had  infallibly  shot  away  all  his  estate. 

Something  therefore  was  wanting,  as  a  succedaneum, 
especially  in  one  or  two  of  the  more  violent  paroxysms 
of  the  siege,  to  keep  up  something  like  a  continual 
firing  in  the  imagination  —  and  this  something,  the 
corporal,  whose  principal  strength  lay  in  invention, 
supplied  by  an  entire  new  system  of  battering  of  his 
own,  without  which  this  had  been  objected  to  by  mi- 


140  TILE  STORY  OF 

litary  critics  to  the  end  of  the  world,  as  one  of  the 
great  desiderata  of  my  uncle  Toby's  apparatus. 

With  two  or  three  other  trinkets,  small  in  themselves, 
but  of  great  regard,  which  poor  Tom,  the  corporal's 
unfortunate  brother,  had  sent  him  over,  with  the 
account  of  his  marriage  with  the  Jew's  widow — there 
was 

A  Montero  cap  and  two  Turkish  tobacco-pipes. 

The  Montero  cap  I  shall  describe  by-and-bye.  The 
Turkish  tobacco-pipes  had  nothing  particular  in  them, 
they  were  fitted  up  and  ornamented  as  usual,  with 
flexible  tubes  of  Morocco  leather  and  gold  wire,  and 
mounted  at  their  ends,  the  one  of  them  with  ivory — 
the  other  with  black  ebony,  tipped  with  silver. 

My  father,  who  saw  all  things  in  lights  different  from 
the  rest  of  the  world,  would  say  to  the  corporal,  that 
he  ought  to  look  upon  these  two  presents  more  as 
tokens  of  his  brother's  nicety,  than  his  affection.  Tom 
did  not  care,  Trim,  he  would  say,  to  put  on  the  cap, 
or  to  smoke  in  the  tobacco-pipe  of  a  Jew.  God  bless 
your  honour,  the  corporal  would  say  (giving  a  strong 
reason  to  the  contrary) — how  can  that  be  ] 

The  Montero  cap  was  scarlet,  of  a  superfine  Spanish 
cloth,  dyed  in  grain,  and  mounted  all  round  with  fur, 
except  about  four  inches  in  the  front,  which  was  faced 
with  a  light  blue,  slightly  embroidered,  and  seemed  to 
have  been  the  property  of  a  Portuguese  quarter-master, 
not  of  foot,  but  of  horse,  as  the  word  denotes. 

The  corporal  was  not  a  little  proud  of  it,  as  well  for 
its  own  sake,  as  the  sake  of  the  giver,  so  seldom  or 
never  put  it  on  but  upon  gala  days  ;  and  yet  never 
was  a  Montero  cap  put  to  so  many  uses :  for  in  all 
controverted  points,  whether  military  or  culinary,  pro- 
vided the  corporal  was  sure  he  was  in  the  right — it 
was  either  his  oath,  his  wager,  or  his  gift. 

'Twas  his  gift  in  the  present  case. 

I'll  be  bound,  said  the  corporal,  speaking  to  himself, 
to  give  away  my  Montero  cap  to  the  first  beggar  who 


MY  UNCLE  TOBY.  141 

comes  to  the  door  if  I  do  not  manage  this  matter  to 
his  honour's  satisfaction. 

The  completion  was  no  further  off  than  the  very 
next  morning  ;  which  was  that  of  the  storm  of  the 
counterscarp  betwixt  the  Lower  Deule,  to  the  right, 
and  the  gate  of  St.  Andrew — and  on  the  left,  between 
St.  Magdalen's  and  the  river. 

As  this  was  the  most  memorable  attack  in  the  whole 
war— the  most  gallant  and  obstinate  on  both  sides — 
and  I  must  add  the  most  bloody  too,  for  it  cost  the 
allies  themselves  that  morning  above  eleven  hundred 
men — my  uncle  Toby  prepared  himself  for  it  with  a 
more  than  ordinary  solemnity. 

The  eve  which  preceded,  as  my  uncle  Toby  went  to 
bed,  he  ordered  his  Ramallie  wig,  which  had  laid  inside 
out  for  many  years  in  the  corner  of  an  old  campaigning 
trunk,  which  stood  by  his  bedside,  to  be  taken  out  and 
laid  upon  the  lid  of  it,  ready  for  the  morning ;  and  the 
very  first  thing  he  did  in  his  shirt,  when  he  had  stepped 
out  of  bed,  my  uncle  Toby,  after  he  had  turned  the 
rough  side  outwards— put  it  on  : — this  done,  he  pro- 
ceeded next  to  his  breeches,  and  having  buttoned  the 
waistband,  he  forthwith  buckled  on  his  sword  and  belt, 
and  had  got  his  sword  half  way  in,  when  he  considered 
he  should  want  shaving,  and  that  it  would  be  very 
inconvenient  doing  it  with  his  sword  on — so  took  it 
off  : — In  essaying  to  put  on  his  regimental  coat  and 
waistcoat,  my  uncle  Toby  found  the  same  objection  in 
his 'wig — so  that  went  off  too  :  So  that  what  with  one 
thing,  and  what  with  another,  as  always  falls  out  when 
a  man  is  in  the  most  haste,  'twas  ten  o'clock,  which 
was  half  an  hour  later  than  his  usual  time,  before  my 
uncle  Toby  sallied  out. 

My  uncle  Toby  had  scarce  turned  the  corner  of  his 
yew  hedge,  which  separated  his  kitchen  garden  from 
his  bowling-green,  when  he  perceived  the  corporal  had 
begun  the  attack  without  him. — 

Let  me  stop  and  give  you  a  picture  of  the  corporal's 


142  THE  STORY  OF 

apparatus  ;  and  of  the  corporal  himself  in  the  height 
of  this  attack,  just  as  it  struck  my  uncle  Toby,  as  he 
turned  towards  the  sentry-box. 

The  corporal  had  slipped  out  about  ten  minutes 
before  my  uncle  Toby,  in  order  to  fix  his  apparatus, 
and  just  give  the  enemy  a  shot  or  two  before  my  uncle 
Toby  came. 

He  had  drawn  the  six  field-pieces  for  this  end,  all 
close  up  together  in  front  of  my  uncle  Toby's  sentry- 
box,  leaving  only  an  interval  of  about  a  yard  and  a 
half  betwixt  the  three,  on  the  right  and  left,  for  the 
convenience  of  charging,  <kc.  and  the  sake  possibly  of 
two  batteries,  which  he  might  think  double  the  honour 
of  one. 

In  the  rear,  and  facing  this  opening,  with  his  back  to 
the  door  of  the  sentry-box,  for  fear  of  being  flanked,  had 
the  corporal  wisely  taken  his  post. — He  held  the  ivory 
pipe,  appertaining  to  the  battery  on  the  right,  betwixt 
the  finger  and  thumb  of  his  right  hand  —  and  the 
ebony  pipe,  tipped  with  silver,  which  appertained  to 
the  batteiy  on  the  left,  betwixt  the  finger  and  thumb 
of  the  other — and  with  his  right  knee  fixed  firm  upon 
the  ground,  as  if  in  the  front  rank  of  his  platoon,  \vas 
the  corporal,  with  his  Montero  cap  upon  his  head, 
furiously  playing  off  his  two  cross  batteries  at  the 
same  time  against  the  counterguard  which  faced  the 
counterscarp,  where  the  attack  was  to  be  made  that 
morning.  His  first  intention,  as  I  said,  was  no  more 
than  giving  the  enemy  a  single  puff  or  two  ;  but  the 
pleasure  of  the  puffs,  as  well  as  the  puffing,  had 
insensibly  got  hold  of  the  corporal,  and  drawn  him 
on  from  puff  to  puff,  into  the  very  height  of  the 
attack,  by  the  time  iny  uncle  Toby  joined  him. 

'Twas  well  for  my  father,  that  my  uncle  Toby  had 
not  his  will  to  make  that  day. 

My  uncle  Toby  took  the  ivory  pipe  out  of  the  cor- 
poral's hand  —  looked  at  it  for  half  a  minute,  and 
returned  it. 


MY  UNCLE  TOST.  143 

In  less  than  two  minutes  my  uncle  Toby  took  the 
pipe  from  the  corporal  again,  and  raised  it  half  way 
to  his  mouth— then  hastily  gave  it  back  a  second 
time. 

The  corporal  redoubled  the  attack— my  uncle  Toby 
smiled — then  looked  grave— then  smiled  for  a  moment 
— then  looked  serious  for  a  long  time.  Give  me  hold 
of  the  ivory  pipe,  Trim,  said  my  uncle  Toby— my 
uncle  Toby  put  it  to  his  lips,  drew  it  back  directly, 
gave  a  peep  over  the  horn-beam  hedge  ;  never  did  my 
uncle  Toby's  mouth  water  so  much  for  a  pipe  in  his 
life.  My  uncle  Toby  retired  into  the  sentry-box  with 
the  pipe  in  his  hand. 

There  was,  madam,  in  my  uncle  Toby  a  singleness 
of  heart  which  misled  him  so  far  out  of  the  little 
serpentine  tracks  in  which  things  of  this  nature 
usually  go  on  ;  you  can — you  can  have  no  conception  of 
it :  with  this,  there  was  a  plainness  and  simplicity  of 
thinking,  with  such  an  unmistrusting  ignorance  of  the 
plies  and  foldings  of  the  heart  of  woman — and  so 
naked  and  defenceless  did  he  stand  before  you  (when 
a  siege  was  out  of  his  head)  that  you  might  have  stood 
behind  any  one  of  your  serpentine  walks,  and  shot 
my  uncle  Toby  ten  times  in  a  day  through  his  liver, 
if  nine  times  in  a  day,  madam,  had  not  served  your 
purpose. 

With  all  this,  madam — and  what  confounded  every- 
thing as  much  on  the  other  hand,  my  uncle  Toby  had 
that  unparalleled  modesty  of  nature  I  once  told  you 
of,  and  which,  by-the-bye,  stood  eternal  sentry  upon 
his  feelings,  that  you  might  as  soon — But  where  am  I 
going  1  these  reflections  crowd  in  upon  me  ten  pages 
at  least  too  soon,  and  take  up  that  time  which  I  ought 
to  bestow  upon  facts. 

Amongst  the  many  ill  consequences  of  the  treaty 
of  Utrecht,  it  was  within  a  point  of  giving  my  uncle 
Toby  a  surfeit  of  sieges  ;  and  though  he  recovered  his 
appetite  afterwards,  yet  Calais  itself  left  not  a  deeper 


144  THE  STORY  OF 

scar  in  Mary's  heart,  than  Utrecht  upon  my  "uncle 
Toby's.  To  the  end  of  his  life  he  never  could  hear 
Utrecht  mentioned  upon  any  account  whatever,  or  so 
much  as  read  an  article  of  news  extracted  out  of  the 
Utrecht  Gazette,  without  fetching  a  sigh,  as  if  his 
heart  would  break  in  twain. 

My  father,  who  was  a  great  motive-monger,  and 
consequently  a  very  dangerous  person  for  a  man  to  sit 
by,  either  laughing  or  crying — for  he  generally  knew 
your  motive  for  doing  both  much  better  than  you 
knew  it  yourself — would  always  console  my  uncle 
Toby  upon  these  occasions  in  a  way  which  showed 
plainly  he  imagined  my  uncle  Toby  grieved  for 
nothing  in  the  whole  affair  so  much  as  the  loss  of  his 
hobby-horse.  Never  mind,  brother  Toby,  he  would 
say — by  God's  blessing  we  shall  have  another  war 
break  out  again  some  of  these  days  ;  and  when  it 
does,  the  belligerent  powers,  if  they  would  hang  them- 
selves, cannot  keep  us  out  of  play.  I  defy  'em,  my 
dear  Toby,  he  would  add,  to  take  countries  without 
taking  towns — or  towns  without  sieges. 

My  uncle  Toby  never  took  this  backstroke  of  my 
father's  at  his  hobby-horse  kindly.  He  thought  the 
stroke  ungenerous  :  and  the  more  so,  because  in  strik- 
ing the  horse  he  hit  the  rider  too,  and  in  the  most 
dishonourable  part  a  blow  could  fall  :  so  that  upon 
these  occasions,  he  always  laid  down  his  pipe  upon 
the  table  with  more  fire  to  defend  himself  than  com- 
mon. 

I  told  the  reader,  this  time  two  years,  that  my 
uncle  Toby  was  not  eloquent ;  and  in  the  very  same 
page  gave  an  instance  to  the  contrary  :  I  repeat  the 
observation,  and  a  fact  which  contradicts  it  again. 
He  was  not  eloquent — it  was  not  easy  to  my  uncle 
Toby  to  make  long  harangues — and  he  hated  florid 
ones ;  but  there  were  occasions  where  the  stream 
overflowed  the  man,  and  ran  so  counter  to  its  usual 
course,  that  in  some  parts  my  uncle  Toby,  for  a  time, 


MY  UNCLE  TOBY,  145 

was  at  least  equal  to  Tertullus — but  in  others,  in  my 
opinion,  infinitely  above  him. 

My  father  was  so  highly  pleased  with  one  of 
these  apologetical  orations  of  my  uncle  Toby's,  which 
he  had  delivered  one  evening  before  him  and  Yorick, 
that  he  wrote  it  down  before  he  went  to  bed.  I  have 
had  the  good  fortune  to  meet  with  it  amongst  my 
father's  papers,  with  here  and  there  an  insertion  of 
his  own,  two  crooks,  thus  [  ],  and  is  endorsed, 

My  brother  Toby's  justification  of  his  own  principles 
and  conduct  in  wishing  to  continue  the  ivar. 

I  may  safely  say,  I  have  read  over  this  apologetical 
oration  of  my  uncle  Toby's  a  hundred  times,  and 
think  it  so  line  a  model  of  defence,  and  shows  so 
sweet  a  temperament  of  gallantry  and  good  principles 
in  him,  that  I  give  it  to  the  world,  word  for  word 
(interlineations  and  all)  as  I  find  it. 

I  am  not  insensible,  brother  Shandy,  that  when  a 
man,  whose  profession  is  arms,  wishes,  as  I  have  done, 
for  war — it  has  an  ill  aspect  to  the  world  ;  and  that 
how  just  and  right  soever  his  motives  and  intentions 
may  be,  he  stands  in  an  uneasy  posture  in  vindicating 
himself,  from  private  views  in  doing  it. 

For  this  cause,  if  a  soldier  is  a  prudent  man,  which 
he  may  be,  without  being  a  jot  the  less  brave,  he  will 
be  sure  not  to  utter  his  wish  in  the  hearing  of  an 
enemy  ;  for,  say  what  he  will,  an  enemy  will  not  be- 
lieve him.  He  will  be  cautious  of  doing  it  even  to  a 
friend,  lest  he  may  suffer  in  his  esteem  : — but  if  his 
heart  is  overcharged,  and  a  secret  sigh  for  arms  must 
have  its  vent,  he  will  reserve  it  for  the  ear  of  a 
brother,  who  knows  his  character  to  the  bottom,  and 
what  his  true  notions,  dispositions,  and  principles  of 
honour  are ;  What,  I  hope,  I  have  been  in  all  these, 

10 


146  THE  STOUT  OF 

brother  Shandy,  would  be  unbecoming  in  me  to  say  ; 
much  worse,  I  know,  have  I  been  than  I  ought — and 
something  worse,  perhaps,  than  I  think  :  but  such  as 
I  am,  you,  my  dear  brother  Shandy,  who  have  sucked 
the  same  breasts  with  me — and  with  whom  I  have 
been  brought  up  from  my  cradle — and  from  whose 
knowledge,  from  the  first  hours  of  our  boyish  pas- 
times down  to  this,  I  have  concealed  no  one  action  of 
my  life,  and  scarce  a  thought  in  it — Such  as  I  am, 
brother,  you  must  by  this  time  know  me  with  all 
my  vices,  and  with  all  my  weaknesses,  too,  whether 
of  my  age,  my  temper,  my  passions,  or  my  under- 
standing. 

Tell  me  then,  my  dear  brother  Shandy,  upon  which 
of  them  it  is,  that  when  I  condemned  the  peace  of 
Utrecht,  and  grieved  the  war  was  not  carried  on  with 
vigour  a  little  longer,  you  should  think  your  brother 
did  it  upon  unworthy  views  ;  or  that  in  wishing  for 
war,  he  should  be  bad  enough  to  wish  more  of  his 
fellow  creatures  slain — more  slaves  made,  and  more 
f  imilies  driven  from  their  peaceful  habitations,  merely 
for  his  own  pleasure  1  Tell  me,  brother  Shandy,  upon 
what  one  deed  of  mine  do  you  ground  it]  [The 
devil  a  deed  do  I  know  of,  dear  Toby,  but  one  for  a 
hundred  pounds,  which  I  lent  thee  to  carry  on  these 
cursed  sieges.] 

O  brother !  'tis  one  thing  for  a  soldier  to  gather 
laurels,  and  'tis  another  to  scatter  cypress.  [Who 
told  thee,  my  dear  Toby,  that  cypress  was  used  by  the 
ancients  on  mournful  occasions  ?J 

'Tis  one  thing,  brother  Shandy,  for  a  soldier  to 
hazard  his  own  life — to  leap  first  down  into  the  trench, 
where  he  is  sure  to  be  cut  to  pieces  : — 'Tis  one  thing, 
from  public  spirit  and  a  thirst  of  glory,  to  enter  the 
breach  the  first  man— to  stand  in  the  foremost  rank, 
and  march  bravely  on  with  drums  and  trumpets,  and 
colours  flying  about  his  ears  : — 'Tis  one  thing,  I  say, 
brother  Shandy,  to  do  this,  and  'tis  another  thing  to 


MY  UNCLE  TOST.  147 

reflect  on  the  miseries  of  war  ;  to  view  the  desolation 
of  whole  countries,  and  consider  the  intolerable 
fatigues  and  hardships  which  the  soldier  himself,  the 
instrument  who  works  them,  is  forced  (for  sixpence  a 
day,  if  he  can  get  it)  to  undergo. 

The  Peace  created,  I  say,  a  sort  of  shyness  betwixt 
my  uncle  Toby  and  his  hobby-horse.  He  had  no  oc- 
casion for  him  from  the  month  of  March  to  November, 
which  was  the  summer  after  the  articles  were  signed, 
except  it  was  now  and  then  to  take  a  short  ride  out, 
just  to  see  that  the  fortifications  and  harbour  of 
Dunkirk  were  demolished,  according  to  stipulation. 

The  French  were  so  backward  all  that  summer  in 
setting  about  the  affair,  that  Monsieur  Tugghe,  the 
deputy  from  the  magistrates  of  Dunkirk,  presented 
so  many  affecting  petitions  to  the  queen,  beseeching 
her  majesty  to  cause  only  her  thunderbolts  to  fall 
upon  the  martial  works,  which  might  have  incurred 
her  displeasure — but  to  spare — to  spare  the  mole,  for 
the  mole's  sake  ;  which,  in  its  situation,  could  be  no 
more  than  an  object  of  pity,  and  the  queen  (who  was 
but  a  woman)  being  of  a  pitiful  disposition — and  her 
ministers  also,  they  not  wishing  in  their  hearts  to 
have  the  town  dismantled ;  so  that  the  whole  went 
heavily  on  with  my  uncle  Toby  ;  insomuch,  that  it  was 
not  within  three  full  months,  after  he  and  the  cor- 
poral had  constructed  the  town,  and  put  it  in  a  con- 
dition to  be  destroyed,  that  the  several  commandants, 
commissaries,  deputies,  negotiators,  and  intendants, 
would  permit  him  to  set  about  it.  Fatal  interval  of 
inactivity  ! 

The  corporal  was  for  beginning  the  demolition,  by 
making  a  breach  in  the  ramparts,  or  main  fortifica- 
tions of  the  town. — No,  that  will  never  do,  corporal, 
said  my  uncle  Toby,  for  in  going  that  way  to  work 
with  the  town,  the  English  garrison  will  not  be  safe 
in  it  an  hour  ;  because  if  the  French  are  treacherous 

10—2 


148  THE  STORY  OF 

— They  are  as  treacherous  as  devils,  an'  please  your 
honour,  said  the  corporal — It  gives  me  concern  always 
when  I  hear  it,  Trim,  said  my  uncle  Toby — for  they 
don't  want  personal  bravery  ;  and  if  a  breach  is  made 
in  the  ramparts,  they  may  enter  it,  and  make  them- 
selves masters  of  the  place  when  they  please. — Let 
them  enter  it,  said  the  corporal,  lifting  up  his 
pioneer's  spade  in  both  his  hands,  as  if  he  was  going 
to  layabout  him  with  it — let  them  enter,  an' please  your 
honour,  if  they  dare. — In  cases  like  this,  corporal,  said 
my  uncle  Toby,  slipping  his  right  hand  down  to  the 
middle  of  his  cane,  and  holding  it  afterwards  trun- 
cheon-wise, with  his  forefinger  extended — 'tis  no  part 
of  the  consideration  of  a  commandant  wrhat  the 
enemy  dare,  or  what  they  dare  not  do  ;  he  must  act 
with  prudence.  We  will  begin  with  the  outworks 
both  towards  the  sea  and  the  land,  and  particularly 
with  Fort  Louis,  the  most  distant  of  them  all,  and 
demolish  it  first — and  the  rest,  one  by  one,  both  on  our 
right  and  left,  as  we  retreat  towards  the  town  ;  then 
we'll  demolish  the  mole — next  fill  up  the  harbour, 
then  retire  into  the  citadel,  and  blow  it  up  into  the 
air ;  and,  having  done  that,  corporal,  we'll  embark  for 
England.  We  are  there,  quoth  the  corporal,  recol- 
lecting himself.  Very  true,  said  my  uncle  Toby — 
looking  at  the  church. 

A  delusive,  delicious  consultation  or  two  of  this 
kind,  betwixt  my  uncle  Toby  and  Trim,  upon  the  de- 
molition of  Dunkirk — for  a  moment  rallied  back  the 
ideas  of  those  pleasures  which  wrere  slipping  from 
under  him  :  still — still  all  went  on  heavily — the  magic 
left  the  mind  the  weaker — Stillness,  with  Silence 
at  her  back,  entered  the  solitary  parlour,  and  drew 
their  gauzy  mantle  over  my  uncle  Toby's  head  ;  ancl- 
Listlessness,  with  her  lax  fibre  and  undirected  eye,  sat 
quietly  down  beside  him  in  his  arm-chair.  No  longer 
Amberg,  and  Rhinberg.  and  Limbourg,  and  Huy,  and 
Bonn,  in  one  year — and  the  prospect  of  Landen,  and 


MT  UNCLE  TOST.  149 

Trerebach,  and'Drusen,  and  Dendermond,  the  next — 
hurried  on  the  blood  :  no  longer  did  saps,  and  mines, 
and  blinds,  and  gabions,  and  palisadoes,  keep  out 
this  fair  enemy  of  man's  repose— No  more  could  my 
uncle  Toby,  after  passing  the  French  lines,  as  he  eat 
his  egg  at  supper,  from  thence  break  into  the  heart  of 
France — cross  over  the  Oyes,  and  with  all  Picardy 
open  behind  him,  march  up  to  the  gates  of  Paris,  and 
fall  asleep  with  nothing  but  ideas  of  glory  :— no  more 
was  he  to  dream,  he  had  fixed  the  royal  standard  upon 
the  tower  of  the  Bastille,  and  awake  with  it  stream- 
ing in  his  head. 

Softer  visions — gentler  vibrations  stole  sweetly  in 
upon  his  slumbers ;  the  trumpet  of  war  fell  out  of 
his  hands — he  took  up  the  lute,  sweet  instrument  !  of 
all  others  the  most  delicate  !  the  most  difficult ! — how 
wilt  thou  touch  it,  my  dear  uncle  Toby ! 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE   WIDOW  WADMAN. 

>  Susannah  was  informed  by  an  express  from 
Mrs.  Bridget,  of  my  uncle  Toby's  falling  in 
love  with  her  mistress  fifteen  days  before  it 
happened— the  contents  of  which  expre>* 
Susannah  communicated  to  my  mother  the  next  day 
— it  has  just  given  me  an  opportunity  of  entering 
upon  my  uncle  Toby's  amours  a  fortnight  before  their 
existence. 

I  have  an  article  of  news  to  tell  you,  Mr.  Shandy, 
quoth  my  mother,  which  will  surprise  you  greatly. 

Now  my  father  was  then  holding  one  of  his  second 
beds  of  justice,  and  was  musing  within  himself  about 
the  hardships  of  matrimony,  as  my  mother  broke 
silence. 

—  My  brother  Toby,  quoth  she,  is  going  to  be  married 
to  Mrs.  Wadman. 

— Then  he  will  never,  quoth  my  father,  be  able  to 
lie  diagonally  in  his  bed  again  as  long  as  he  lives. 

It  was  a  consuming  vexation  to  my  father,  that  my 
mother  never  asked  the  meaning  of  a  thing  she  did 
not  understand. 

— That  she  is  not  a  woman  of  science,  my  father 
would  say— is  her  misfortune — but  she  might  ask  a 
question. 

My  mother  never  did.  In  short,  she  went  out  of  the 


MY  UNCLE  TOBY.  151 

world  at  last  without  knowing  whether  it  turned  round, 
or  stood  still.  My  father  had  officiously  told  her  above 
a  thousand  times  which  way  it  was  —  but  she  always 
forgot. 

For  these  reasons  a  discourse  seldom  went  on  much 
further  betwixt  them,  than  a  proposition — a  reply— 
and  a  rejoinder ;  at  the  end  of  which,  it  generally 
took  breath  for  a  few  minutes  (as  in  the  affair  of  the 
breeches)  and  then  went  on  again. 

If  he  marries,  'twill  be  the  worse  for  us,  quoth  my 
mother. 

Not  a  cherrystone,  said  my  father — he  may  as  well 
batter  away  his  means  upon  that,  as  anything  else. 

To  be  sure,  said  my  mother  :  so  here  ended  the  pro- 
position, the  reply,  and  the  rejoinder,  I  told  you  of. 

Though  the  corporal  had  been  as  good  as  his  word 
in  putting  my  uncle  Toby's  great  ramallie-wig  into 
pipes,  yet  the  time  was  top  short  to  produce  any  great 
effects  from  it :  it  had  lain  many  years  squeezed  up 
in  the  corner  of  his  old  campaign  trunk  ;  and  as  bad 
forms  are  not  so  easy  to  be  got  the  better  of,  and  the 
use  of  candle-ends  not  so  well  understood,  it  was  not 
so  pliable  a  business  as  one  would  have  wished.  The 
corporal,  with  cheery  eye  and  both  arms  extended,  had 
fallen  back  perpendicular  from  it  a  score  times,  to 
inspire  it,  if  possible,  with  a  better  air — had  spleen 
given  a  look  at  it,  'twould  have  cost  her  ladyship  a 
smile — it  curled  everywhere  but  where  the  corporal 
would  have  it  ;  and  where  a  buckle  or  two,  in  his 
opinion,  would  have  done  it  honour,  he  could  as  soon 
have  raised  the  dead. 

Such  it  was,  or  rather  such  would  it  have  seemed 
upon  any  other  brow  ;  but  the  sweet  look  of  goodness 
which  sat  upon  my  uncle  Toby's,  assimilated  every- 
thing around  it  so  sovereignly  to  itself,  and  nature 
had  moreover  wrote  Gentleman  with  so  fair  a  hand  in 
every  line  of  his  countenance,  that  even  his  tarnished 
gold-laced  hat  and  huge  cockade  of  flimsy  taffeta 


152  THE  STORY  OF 

became  him ;  and  though  not  worth  a  button  in  them- 
selves, jet  the  moment  my  uncle  Toby  put  them  on, 
they  became  serious  objects,  and  altogether  seemed  to 
have  been  picked  up  by  the  hand  of  science  to  set  him 
off  to  advantage. 

Nothing  in  this  world  could  have  co-operated  more 
powerfully  towards  this,  than  my  uncle  Toby's  blue 
and  gold — had  not  Quantity  in  some  measure  been 
necessary  to  Grace ;  in  a  period  of  fifteen  or  sixteen 
years  since  they  had  been  made,  by  a  total  inactivity 
in  my  uncle  Toby's  life — for  he  seldom  went  further 
than  the  bowling-green— his  blue  and  gold  had  become 
so  miserably  too  straight  for  him,  that  it  was  with  the 
utmost  difficulty  the  corporal  was  able  to  get  him  into 
them  ;  the  taking  them  up  at  the  sleeves,  was  of  no 
advantage.  They  were  laced  however  down  the  back, 
and  at  the  seams  of  the  sides,  <tc.,  in  the  mode  of 
King  William's  reign  ;  and  to  shorten  all  description, 
they  shone  so  bright  against  the  sun  that  morning, 
and  had  so  metallic,  and  doughty  an  air  with  them, 
that  had  my  uncle  Toby  thought  of  attacking  in 
armour,  nothing  could  have  so  well  imposed  upon  his 
imagination. 

As  for  the  thin  scarlet  breeches,  they  had  been  un- 
ripped by  the  tailor  between  the  legs,  and  left  at  sixes 
and  sevens. — 

It  is  enough  they  were  held  impracticable  the  night 
before,  and  as  there  was  no  alternative  in  my  uncle 
Toby's  wardrobe,  he  sallied  forth  in  the  red  plush. 

The  corporal  had  arrayed  himself  in  poor  Le  Fever's 
regimental  coat ;  and  with  his  hair  tucked  up  under  his 
Montero  cap,  whichhe  had  furbished  up  forthe  occasion, 
marched  three  paces  distance  from  his  master :  a  whiff 
of  military  pride  had  puffed  out  his  shirt  at  the  wrist ; 
and  upon  that  in  a  black  leather  thong  clipped  into  a 
tassel  beyond  the  knot,  hung  the  corporal's  stick — My 
uncle  Toby  carried  his  cane  like  a  pike. 

It  looks  well  at  least ;  quoth  my  father  to  himself. 


MY  UNCLE  TOBY.  153 

My  uncle  Toby  turned  his  head  more  than  once 
behind  him,  to  see  how  he  was  supported  by  the 
corporal :  and  the  corporal  as  oft  as  he  did  it,  gave  a 
slight  nourish  with  his  stick — but  not  vapouringly ; 
and  with  the  sweetest  accent  of  most  respectful  en- 
couragement, bid  his  honour  "never  fear." 

Now  my  uncle  Toby  did  fear  ;  and  grievously  too  : 
and  was  never  altogether  at  his  ease  near  any  one 
of  the  sex,  unless  in  sorrow  or  distress ;  then  infinite 
was  his  pity  ;  nor  would  the  most  courteous  knight 
of  romance  have  gone  any  further,  at  least  upon 
one  leg,  to  have  wiped  away  a  tear  from  a  woman's 
eye ;  and  yet  excepting  once  that  he  was  beguiled 
into  it  by  Mrs.  Wadman,  he  had  never  looked  sted- 
fastly  into  one. 

She  cannot,  quoth  my  uncle  Toby,  halting,  when 
they  had  marched  up  to  within  twenty  paces  of  Mrs. 
Wadman's  door — she  cannot,  corporal,  take  it  amiss. 

— She  will  take  it,  an'  please  your  honour,  said  the 
corporal,  just  as  the  Jew's  widow  at  Lisbon  took  it  of 
my  brother  Tom. 

And  how  was  that  1  quoth  my  uncle  Toby,  facing 
quite  about  to  the  corporal. 

Your  honour,  replied  the  corporal,  knows  of  Tom's 
misfortunes ;  but  this  affair  has  nothing  to  do  with 
them  any  further  than  this,  that  if  Tom  had  not 
married  the  widow — or  had  it  pleased  God  after  their 
marriage,  that  they  had  but  put  pork  into  their 
sausages,  the  honest  soul  had  never  been  taken  out  of 
his  warm  bed,  and  dragged  to  the  inquisition, — 'Tis  a 
cursed  place,  added  the  corporal,  shaking  his  head, — 
when  once  a  poor  creature  is  in,  he  is  in,  an'  please  your 
honour,  for  ever. 

'Tis  very  true  ;  said  my  uncle  Toby,  looking  gravely 
at  Mrs.  Wadman's  house,  as  he  spoke. 

Nothing,  continued  the  corporal,  can  be  so  sad  as 
confinement  for  life,  or  so  sweet,  an'  please  your 
honour,  as  liberty. 


154  THE  STOUT  OF 

Nothing,  Trim,  said  my  uncle  Toby,  musing. 

Whilst  a  man  is  free — cried  the  corporal,  giving  a 
flourish  with  his  stick. — 

A  thousand  of  my  father's  most  subtle  syllogisms 
could  not  have  said  more  for  celibacy. 

My  uncle  Toby  looked  earnestly  towards  his  cot- 
tage and  his  bowling-green. 

The  corporal  had  unwarily  conjured  up  the  spirit 
of  calculation  with  his  wand  :  and  he  had  nothing  to 
do,  but  to  conjure  him  down  again  with  his  story,  and 
in  this  form  of  exorcism,  most  unecclesiastically  did 
the  corporal  do  it. 

As  Tom's  place,  an'  please  your  honour,  was  easy, 
and  the  weather  warm,  it  put  him  upon  thinking 
seriously  of  settling  himself  in  the  world ;  and  as  it 
fell  out  about  that  time,  that  a  Jew  who  kept  a 
sausage-shop  in  the  same  street,  had  the  ill  luck  to 
die  of  a  strangury,  and  leave  his  widow  in  possession  of 
a  rousing  trade,  Tom  thought  (as  everybody  in 
Lisbon  was  doing  the  best  he  could  devise  for  himself) 
there  could  be  no  harm  in  offering  her  his  service  to 
carry  it  on  :  so  without  any  introduction  to  the 
widow,  except  that  of  buying  a  pound  of  sausages 
at  her  shop,  Torn  set  out,  counting  the  matter  thus 
within  himself,  as  he  walked  along ;  that  let  the 
worst  come  of  it  that  could,  he  should  at  least  get  a 
pound  of  sausages  for  their  worth — but,  if  things 
went  well,  he  should  be  set  up ;  inasmuch  as  he  should 
get  not  only  a  pound  of  sausages,  but  a  wife,  and  a 
sausage-shop,  an'  please  your  honour,  into  the  bar- 
gain. 

Every  servant  in  the  family,  from  high  to  low, 
wished  Tom  success  ;  and  I  can  fancy,  an'  please  your 
honour,  I  see  him  this  moment  with  his  white  dimity 
waistcoat  and  breeches,  and  hat  a  little  o'  one  side, 
passing  jollily  along  the  street  swinging  his  stick,  with 
a  smile  and  a  cheerful  word  for  everybody  he  met : — 
But  alas  !  Tom !  thou  smilest  no  more,  cried  the  cor- 


MY  UNCLE  TOST.  155 

poral,  looking  on  one  side  of  him  upon  the  ground, 
as  if  he  apostrophised  him  in  his  dungeon. 

Poor  fellow  !  said  my  uncle  Toby,  feelingly. 

He  was  an  honest,  light-hearted  lad,  an'  please  your 
honour,  as  ever  blood  warmed. — 

Then  he  resembled  thee,  Trim,  said  my  uncle  Toby, 
rapidly. 

The  corporal  blushed  down  to  his  fingers'  ends— a 
tear  of  sentimental  bashfulness — another  of  gratitude 
to  my  uncle  Toby,  and  a  tear  of  sorrow  for  his 
brother's  misfortunes,  started  into  his  eye  and  ran 
sweetly  down  his  cheek  together  ;  my  uncle  Toby's 
kindled  as  one  lamp  does  at  another  ;  and  taking 
hold  of  the  breast  of  Trim's  coat  (which  had  been 
that  of  Le  Fever's)  as  if  to  ease  his  lame  leg,  but  in 
.  reality  to  gratify  a  finer  feeling,  he  stood  silent  for  a 
minute  and  a  half  ;  at  the  end  of  which  he  took  his 
hand  away,  and  the  corporal  making  a  bow,  went 
on  with  his  story  of  his  brother  and  the  Jew's 
widow. 

When  Tom,  an'  please  your  honour,  got  to  the  shop, 
there  was  nobody  in  it,  but  a  poor  negro  girl,  with  a 
bunch  of  white  feathers  slightly  tied  to  the  end  of  a 
long  cane,  flapping  away  flies,  not  killing  them. — 'Tis 
a  pretty  picture  !  said  my  uncle  Toby  —  she  had 
suffered  persecution,  Trim,  and  had  learnt  mercy. 

She  was  good,  an'  please  your  honour,  from  nature 
as  well  as  from  hardships  :  and  there  are  circum- 
stances in  the  story  of  that  poor  friendless  slut  that 
would  melt  a  heart  of  stone,  said  Trim  ;  and  some  dis- 
mal winter's  evening,  when  your  honour  is  in  the 
humour,  they  shall  be  told  you  with  the  rest  of  Tom's 
story,  for  it  makes  a  part  of  it. 

Then  do  not  forget,  Trim,  said  my  uncle  Toby. 

A  Negro  has  a  soul  1  an'  please  your  honour,  said 
the  corporal  (doubtingly). 

I  am  not  much  versed,  Corporal,  quoth  my  uncle 
Toby,  in  things  of  that  kind  ;  but  I  suppose,  God 


156  THE  STOEY  OF 

would  not  leave  him  without  one,  any  more  than  thee 
or  me. 

It  would  be  putting  one  sadly  over  the  head  of 
another,  quoth  the  corporal. 

It  would  so  ;  said  my  uncle  Toby.  Why  then,  an' 
please  your  honour,  is  a  black  wench  to  be  used  worse 
than  a  white  one  1 

I  can  give  no  reason,  said  my  uncle  Toby. 

Only,  cried  the  corporal,  shaking  his  head,  because 
she  has  no  one  to  stand  up  for  her. 

'Tis  that  very  thing,  Trim,  quoth  my  uncle  Toby, 
which  recommends  her  to  protection,  and  her  brethren 
with  her  ;  'tis  the  fortune  of  war  which  has  put  the 
whip  into  our  hands  now — where  it  may  be  hereafter, 
heaven  knows !  but  be  it  where  it  will,  the  brave, 
Trim  !  will  not  use  it  unkindly. 

God  forbid,  said  the  corporal. 

Amen,  responded  my  uncle  Toby,  laying  his  hand 
upon  his  heart. 

The  corporal  returned  to  his  story,  and  Ayerit  on, 
but  with  an  embarrassment  in  doing  it,  which  here 
and  there  a  reader  in  this  world  will  not  be  able  to 
comprehend  ;  for  by  the  many  sudden  transitions  all 
along,  from  one  kind  and  cordial  passion  to  another, 
in  getting  thus  far  on  his  way,  he  had  lost  the  sport- 
able  key  of  his  voice  which  gave  sense  and  spirit  to 
his  tale  :  he  attempted  twice  to  resume  it,  but  could 
not  please  himself ;  so  giving  a  stout  hem  !  to  rally 
back  the  retreating  spirits,  and  aiding  nature  at  the 
same  time  with  his  left  arm  a-kimbo  on  one  side,  and 
with  his  right  a  little  extended,  supporting  her  on  the 
other — the  corporal  got  as  near  the  note  as  he  could  ; 
and  in  that  attitude,  continued  his  story. 

As  Tom,  an'  please  your  honour,  had  no  business  at  - 
that  time  with  the  Moorish  girl,  he  passed  on  into  the 
room  beyond  to  talk  to  the  Jew's  widow  about  love, 
and  his  pound  of  sausages  ;  and  being,  as  I  have  told 
your  honour,  an  open,  cheery  hearted  lad,  with  his 


MY  UNCLE  TOST.  157 

character  wrote  in  his  looks  and  carriage,  he  took  a 
chair,  and  without  much  apology,  but  with  great 
civility  at  the  same  time,  placed  it  close  to  her  at  the 
table,  and  sat  down. 

There  is  nothing  so  awkward,  as  courting  a  woman, 
an'  please  your  honour,  whilst  she  is  making  sausages. 
So  Tom  began  a  discourse  upon  them  ;  first  gravely, 
— "  as  how  they  were  made — with  what  meats,  herbs 
and  spices  "  and  so  on — taking  care  only  as  he  went 
along,  to  season  what  he  had  to  say  upon  sausages, 
rather  under,  than  over. 

It  was  owing  to  the  neglect  of  that  very  precaution, 
said  my  uncle  Toby,  laying  his  hand  upon  Trim's 
shoulder,  that  Count  de  la  Motte  lost  the  battle  of 
Wynendale  :  he  pressed  too  speedily  into  the  wood  ; 
which  if  he  had  not  done,  Lisle  had  not  fallen  into 
our  hands,  nor  Ghent  and  Bruges,  which  both  followed 
her  example  ;  it  was  so  late  in  the  year,  continued  my 
uncle  Toby,  and  so  terrible  a  season  came  on,  that  if 
things  had  not  fallen  out  as  they  did,  our  troops  must 
have  perished  in  the  open  field. 

Why,  therefore,  may  not  battles,  an'  please  your 
honour,  as  well  as  marriages,  be  made  in  heaven'? 
My  uncle  Toby  mused. 

Religion  inclined  him  to  say  one  thing,  and  his 
high  idea  of  military  skill  tempted  him  to  say 
another  ;  so  not  being  able  to  frame  a  reply  exactly  to 
his  mind,  my  uncle  Toby  said  nothing  at  all ;  and  the 
corporal  finished  his  story. 

As  Tom  perceived,  an'  please  your  honour,  that  he 
gained  ground,  and  all  that  he  had  said  upon  the  sub- 
ject of  sausages  was  kindly  taken,  he  went  on  to  help 
her  a  little  in  making  them,  first  by  cutting  strings 
into  proper  lengths,  and  holding  them  in  his  hand, 
whilst  she  took  them  out  one  by  one  ;  then  by  putting 
them  across  her  mouth  that  she  might  take  them  out 
as  she  wanted  them — and  so  on  from  little  to  more. — 
Now  a  widow,  an'  please  your  honour,  always  chooses 


158  THJttTOXY  OF 

a  second  husband  as  unlike  the  first  as  she  can  :  so 
the  affair  was  more  than  half  settled  in  her  mind 
before  Tom  mentioned  it, — 0  fSir  !  the  story  will  make 
your  heart  bleed, — as  it  has  made  mine  a  thousand 
times  ;  but  it  is  too  long  to  be  told  now  ; — your 
honour  shall  hear  it  from  first  to  last  some  day  when 
I  am  working  beside  you  in  our  fortifications  ; — but 
the  short  of  the  story  is  this  : — when  he  married  the 
Jew's  widow,  wrho  kept  the  small  shop,  somehow  or 
other  it  was  the  cause  of  his  being  taken  in  the 
middle  of  the  night  out  of  his  bed.  where  he  was 
lying  with  his  wife  and  two  small  children,  and 
carried  directly  to  the  Inquisition,  where,  God  help 
him,  continued  Trim,  fetching  a  sigh  from  the  bottom 
of  his  heart, — the  poor  honest  lad  lies  confined  at  this 
hour  ; — he  was  as  honest  a  soul,  added  Trim  (pulling 
out  his  handkerchief),  as  ever  blood  warmeJ. — 

— The  tears  trickled  down  Trim's  cheeks  faster 
than  he  could  well  wipe  them  away.— A  dead  silence 
ensued  for  some  minutes.— Certain  proof  of  pity  ! 

All  womankind,  continued  Trim  (commenting  upon 
his  story,)  from  the  highest  to  the  lowest,  an'  please 
your  honour,  love  jokes  ;  the  difficulty  is  to  know 
how  they  choose  to  have  them  cut ;  and  there  is  no 
knowing  that,  but  by  trying  as  we  do  with  our 
artillery  in  the  field. 

I  like  the  comparison,  said  my  uncle  Toby. 

Because  your  honour,  quoth  the  corporal,  loves 
glory  more  than  pleasure. 

I  hope,  Trim,  answered  my  uncle  Toby,  I  love 
mankind  more  than  either  ;  and  as  the  knowledge  of 
arms  tends  so  apparently  to  the  good  and  quiet  of 
the  world,  and  particularly  that  branch  of  it  which  we 
have  practised  together  in  our  bowling-green,  has  no 
object  but  to  shorten  the  strides  of  ambition,  and 
intrench  the  lives  and  fortunes  of  the  few,  from  the 
plunderings  of  the  many— whenever  that  drum  beats 
in  our  ears,  I  trust,  corporal,  we  shall  neither  of  us 


MY  UNCLE  TOBY.  159 

want  so  much  humanity  and  fellow-feeling  as  to  face 
about  and  march. 

In  pronouncing  this,  my  uncle  Toby  faced  about 
and  marched  firmly  as  at  the  head  of  his  company — 
and  the  faithful  corporal  shouldering  his  stick,  and 
striking  his  hand  upon  his  coat- skirt  as  he  took 
his  first  step,  marched  close  behind  him  down  the 
avenue. 

Now  what  can  their  two  noddles  be  about  1  cried 
my  father  to  my  mother — My  mother  had  gone  with 
her  left  arm  twisted  in  my  father's  right,  till  they 
had  got  to  the  angle  of  the  old  garden  wall ;  as  this 
was  directly  opposite  to  the  front  of  Mrs.  Wadman's 
hoiise,  when  my  father  came  to  it,  he  gave  a  look 
across ;  and  seeing  my  uncle  Toby  and  the  corporal 
within  ten  paces  of  the  door,  he  turned  about — "  Let 
us  just  stop  a  moment,"  quoth  my  father,  "  and  see 
with  what  ceremonies  my  brother  Toby  and  his  man 
Trim  make  their  first  entry — it  will  not  detain  us/' 
added  my  father,  "  a  single  minute  :" — No  matter,  if  it 
be  ten  minutes,  quoth  my  mother. 

It  will  not  detain  us  half  a  one ;  said  my  father. 

The  corporal  was  just  then  setting  in  with  the  story 
of  his  brother  Tom  and  the  Jew's  widow  :  the  story 
went  on,  and  on — it  had  episodes  in  it — it  came  back, 
and  went  on, — and  on  again  ;  there  was  no  end  of  it. 

My  father  stood  it  out  as  well  as  he  could  to  the 
end  of  Trim's  story  ;  and  from  thence  to  the  end  of 
my  uncle  Toby's  panegyric  upon  arms,  in  the  chapter 
following  it ;  when  seeing  that  instead  of  marching 
up  to  Mrs.  Wadman's  door,  they  both  faced  about  and 
marched  down  the  avenue  diametrically  opposite  to 
his  expectation,  he  broke  out  at  once  with  that  little 
subacid  soreness  of  humour  which,  in  certain  situa- 
tions, distinguished  his  character  from  that  of  all  other 
men. 

"Now  what  can  their  two  noddles  be  about V} 
cried  my  father,  &c. 


160  THE  STOUT  OF 

I  dare  say,  said  my  mother,  they  are  making  forti- 
fications. 

Not  on  Mrs.  Wadman's  premises  !  cried  my  father, 
stepping  back. 

I  suppose  not :  quoth  my  mother. 

I  wish,  said  my  father,  raising  his  voice,  the  whole 
science  of  fortification  at  the  devil,  with  all  its  trum- 
pery of  saps,  mines,  blinds,  gabions,  fausse-brays  and 
cuvetts. — 

They  are  foolish  things — said  my  mother. 

Now  she  had  a  way,  which  by  the  bye,  I  would  this 
moment  give  away  my  purple  jerkin,  and  my  yellow 
slippers  into  the  bargain,  if  some  of  your  reverences 
would  imitate — and  that  wTas  never  to  refuse  her 
assent  and  consent  to  any  proposition  my  father  laid 
before  her,  merely  because  she  did  not  understand  it, 
or  had  no  ideas  to  the  principal  word  or  term  of  art, 
upon  which  the  tenet  or  proposition  rolled.  She  con- 
tented herself  with  doing  all  that  her  godfathers  and 
godmothers  promised  for  her,  but  no  more  ;  and  so 
would  go  on  using  a  hard  word  twenty  years  together, 
and  replying  to  it  too,  if  it  was  a  verb,  in  all  its 
moods  and  tenses,  without  giving  herself  any  trouble 
to  inquire  about  it. 

This  was  an  eternal  source  of  misery  to  my  father, 
and  broke  the  neck,  at  the  first  setting  out,  of  more 
dialogues  between  them,  than  could  have  done  the 
most  petulant  contradiction — the  few  which  survived 
were  the  better  for  the  cuvetts — 

"  They  are  foolish  things;"  said  my  mother. 

Particularly  the  cuvetts  ;  replied  my  father. 

'Twas  enough — he  tasted  the  sweet  of  triumph  and 
went  on. 

Not  that  they  are,  properly  speaking,  Mrs.  "\Varl- 
man's  premises,  said  my  father,  partly  correcting  him- 
self— because  she  is  but  tenant  for  life. 

That  makes  a  great  difference — said  my  mother. 

In  a  fool's  head,  replied  my  father. 


MY  UNCLE  TOST.  161 

Unless  she  should  happen  to  have  a  child — said  my 
mother. 

Though  if  it  comes  to  that — said  my  father — Lord 
have  mercy  upon  them. 

Amen  :  said  my  mother,  piano. 

Amen  :  cried  my  father,  fortissime. 

Amen  :  said  my  mother  again — but  with  such  a 
sighing  cadence  of  personal  pity  at  the  end  of  it,  as 
discomfited  every  fibre  about  my  father — he  instantly 
took  out  his  almanack  ;  but  before  he  could  untie  it, 
Yorick's  congregation  coming  out  of  church,  became 
a  full  answer  to  one  half  of  his  business  with  it — and 
my  mother  telling  him  it  was  a  sacrament  day,  left 
him  as  little  in  doubt,  as  to  the  other  part — he  put 
his  almanac  into  his  pocket. 

When  my  uncle  Toby  and  the  corporal  had  marched 
down  to  the  bottom  of  the  avenue,  they  recollected 
their  business  lay  the  other  way  ;  so  they  faced  about 
and  marched  up  straight  to  Mrs.  Wadman's  door. 

I  warrant  your  honour  ;  said  the  corporal,  touching 
his  Montero-cap,  with  his  hand,  as  he  passed  him  in 
order  to  give  a  knock  at  the  door — My  uncle  Toby, 
contrary  to  his  invariable  way  of  treating  his  faithful 
servant,  said  nothing  good  or  bad  :  the  truth  was,  he 
had  not  altogether  marshalled  his  ideas ;  he  wished 
for  another  conference,  and  as  the  corporal  was 
mounting  up  the  three  steps  before  the  door,  he 
hemmed  twice —  a  portion  of  my  uncle  Toby's  most 
modest  spirits  fled,  at  each  expulsion,  towards  the 
corporal  ;  he  stood  with  the  rapper  of  the  door  sus- 
pended for  a  full  minute  in  his  hand,  he  scarce  knew 
why.  Bridget  stood  perdue  within,  with  her  finger 
and  her  thumb  upon  the  latch,  benumbed  with  expec- 
tation ;  and  Mrs.  Wadman,  with  an  eye  ready  to  be 
deflowered  again,  sat  breathless  behind  the  window- 
curtain  of  her  bedchamber,  watching  their  approach. 

Trim !  said  my  uncle  Toby — but  as  he  articulated  the 
word,  the  minute  expired,  and  Trim  let  fall  the  rapper. 

11 


1 52  THE  STORY  OF 

My  uncle  Toby  perceiving  that  all  hopes  of  a  con- 
ference were  knocked  on  the  head  by  it, — whistled 
Lillabullero. 

As  Mrs.  Bridget  opened  the  door  before  the  cor- 
poral had  well  given  the  rap,  the  interval  betwixt 
that  and  my  uncle  Toby's  introduction  into  the 
parlour,  was  so  short,  that  Mrs.  Wadman  had  but  just 
time  to  get  from  behind  the  curtain,  lay  a  bible  upon 
the  table,  and  advance  a  step  or  two  towards  the  door 
to  receive  him. 

My  uncle  Toby  saluted  Mrs.  Wadman,  after  the 
manner  in  which  women  were  saluted  by  men  in  the 
year  of  our  Lord  God  one  thousand  seven  hundred 
and  thirteen — then  facing  about,  he  marched  up 
abreast  with  her  to  the  sofa,  and  in  three  plain  words 
— though  not  before  he  was  sat  down— nor  after  he 
was  sat  down — but  as  he  was  sitting  down,  told  her, 
"  he  was  in  love  " — so  that  my  uncle  Toby  strained 
himself  more  in  the  declaration  than  he  needed. 

Mrs.  Wadman  naturally  looked  down — she  had  been 
darning  her  apron — in  expectation  every  moment, 
that  my  uncle  Toby  would  go  on  ;  but  having  no 
talents  for  amplification,  and  love  moreover  of  all 
others  being  a  subject  of  which  he  was  the  least  a 
master,  when  he  had  told  Mrs.  Wadman  once  that 
he  loved  her,  he  let  it  alone,  and  left  the  matter  to 
work  after  its  own  way. 

My  father  was  always  in  raptures  with  this  system 
of  my  uncle  Toby's,  as  he  falsely  called  it,  and  would 
often  say,  that  could  his  brother  Toby  to  his  process 
have  added  but  a  pipe  of  tobacco — he  had  where- 
withal to  have  found  his  way,  if  there  was  faith  in  a 
Spanish  proverb,  towards  the  hearts  of  half  the 
women  upon  the  globe. 

My  uncle  Toby  never  understood  what  my  father 
meant ;  nor  will  I  presume  to  extract  more  from  it, 
than  a  condemnation  of  an  error  which  the  bulk  of 


MY  UNCLE  TOBY.  163 

the  world  lie  under — but  the  French,  every  one  of 
'em  to  a  man,  who  believe  in  it.  "  That  talking  of 
love,  is  making  it." 

Let  us  go  on  :  Mrs.  Wadman  sat  in  expectation  my 
uncle  Toby  would  do  so,  to  almost  the  first  pulsation 
of  that  minute,  wherein  silence  on  one  side  or  the 
other,  generally  becomes  indecent :  so  edging  herself 
a  little  more  towards  him,  and  raising  up  her  eyes, 
sub-blushing,  as  she  did  it,  she  took  up  the  gauntlet, 
or  the  discourse  (if  you  like  it  better)  and  communed 
with  my  uncle  Toby,  thus. 

The  cares  and  disquietudes  of  the  marriage  state, 
quoth  Mrs.  Wadman,  are  very  great,  I  suppose  so — 
said  my  uncle  Toby  :  and  therefore  when  a  person, 
continued  Mrs.  Wadman,  is  so  much  at  his  ease  as 
you  are,  so  happy,  Captain  Shandy,  in  yourself,  your 
friends  and  your  amusements — I  wonder,  what  reasons 
can  incline  you  to  the  state. 

— They  are  written,  quoth  my  uncle  Toby,  in  the 
Common  Prayer  Book. 

Thus  far  my  uncle  Toby  went  on  warily,  and  kept 
within  his  depth,  leaving  Mrs.  Wadman  to  sail  upon 
the  gulf  as  she  pleased. 

As  for  children— said  Mrs.  Wadman — though  a 
principal  end  perhaps  of  the  institution,  and  the 
natural  wish,  I  suppose,  of  every  parent,  yet  do  not 
we  all  find,  they  are  certain  sorrows,  and  very  un- 
certain comforts  1  and  what  is  there,  dear  sir,  to  pay 
one  for  the  heartaches — what  compensation  for  the 
many  tender  and  disquieting  apprehensions  of  a  suffer- 
ing and  defenceless  mother  who  brings  them  into  life  ] 
I  declare,  said  my  uncle  Toby,  smit  with  pity,  I  know 
of  none  ;  unless  it  be  that  it  has  pleased  God — Feeling 
within  himself  that  he  had  somehow  or  other  got 
beyond  his  depth,  he  stopped  short ;  and  without 
entering  further  either  into  the  pains  or  pleasures  of 
matrimony,  he  laid  his  hand  upon  his  heart,  and 

11—2 


164  THE  STOEY  OF 

made  an  offer  to  take  them  as  they  were,  and  share 
them  along  with  her. 

When  my  uncle  Toby  had  said  this,  he  did  not  care 
to  say  it  again  ;  so  casting  his  eye  upon  the  bible  which 
Mrs.  Wadman  had  laid  upon  the  table,  he  took  it  up  • 
and  popping,  dear  soul !  upon  a  passage  in  it,  of  all 
others  the  most  interesting  to  him — which  was  the 
siege  of  Jericho — he  set  himself  to  read  it  over, 
leaving  his  proposal  of  marriage,  as  he  had  done  his 
declaration  of  love,  to  work  with  her  after  its  own 
way. — But  there  is  an  accent  of  humanity — how  shall 
I  describe  it  ] — So  tenderly  spoke  to,  and  so  directed 
towards  my  uncle  Toby's  heart,  that  every  item  sank 
ten  times  deeper  into  it  than  the  evils  themselves — 
but  when  Mrs.  Wadman  went  round  about  by 
Namut  ;  and  engaged  him  to  attack  the  point  of  the 
advanced  Counterscarp,  and  pele  mele  with  the  Dutch 
to  take  the  counterguard  of  St.  Roch  sword  in  hand, 
and  then  with  tender  notes  playing  upon  his  ear,  led 
him  all  bleeding  by  the  hand  put  of  the  trench,  wiping 
her  eye,  as  he  was  carried  to  his  tent — Heaven  !  earth  ! 
sea  !  all  was  lifted  up — the  springs  of  nature  rose 
above  their  levels — an  angel  of  mercy  sat  beside  him 
on  the  sofa — his  heart  glowed  with  fire — and  had  he 
been  worth  a  thousand,  he  had  lost  every  heart  of 
them  to  Mrs.  Wadman. 

My  uncle  Toby  and  the  corporal  had  gone  on  separ- 
ately with  their  operations  the  greatest  part  of  the 
campaign,  and  as  effectually  cut  off  from  all  com- 
munication of  what  either  the  one  or  the  other  had 
been  doing,  as  if  they  had  been  separated  from  each 
other  by  the  Maes  or  the  Sambre. 

My  uncle  Toby,  on  his  side,  had  presented  himself 
every  afternoon  in  his  red  and  silver,  and  blue  and 
gold  alternately,  and  sustained  an  infinity  of  attacks 
in  them,  without  knowing  them  to  be  attacks,  and  so 
had  nothing  to  communicate. 

The  corporal,  on  his  side,  in  taking  Bridget,  by  it 


MY  UNCLE  TOBY.  165 

had  gained  considerable  advantages,  and  consequently 
had  much  to  communicate — Best  of  honest  and  gallant 
servants  ! 

Now  my  uncle  Toby  had  one  evening  laid  down  his 
pipe  upon  the  table,  and  was  counting  over  to  himself 
upon  his  finger  ends  (beginning  at  his  thumb),  all 
Mrs.  Wadman's  perfections  one  by  one  ;  and  happen- 
ing two  or  three  times  together,  either  by  omitting 
some,  or  counting  others  twice  over  to  puzzle  himself 
sadly  before  he  could  get  beyond  his  middle  finger. — 
Prithee,  Trim !  said  he,  taking  up  his  pipe  again. — 
bring  me  a  pen  and  ink  :  Trim  brought  paper  also. 

Take  a  full  sheet.  Trim  !  said  my  uncle  Toby, 
making  a  sign  with  his  pipe  at  the  same  time  to  take 
a  chair  and  sit  down  close  by  him  at  the  table.  The 
corporal  obeyed,  placed  the  paper  directly  before  him, 
took  a  pen  and  dipped  it  in  the  ink. 

She  has  a  thousand  virtues,  Trim  !  said  my  uncle 
Toby. 

Am  I  to  set  them  down,  an'  please  your  honour] 
quoth  the  corporal. 

But  they  must  be  taken  in  their  ranks,  replied  my 
uncle  Toby  ;  for  of  them  all,  Trim,  that  which  wins 
me  most,  and  which  is  a  security  for  all  the  rest,  is 
the  compassionate  turn  and  singular  humanity  of 
her  character. 

The  corporal  dipped  the  pen  a  second  time  into  the 
inkhorn  ;  and  my  uncle  Toby,  pointing  with  the  end 
of  his  pipe  as  close  to  the  top  of  the  sheet,  at  the  left 
hand  corner  of  it,  as  he  could  get  it,  the  corporal 
wrote  down  the  word  Humanity... thus. 

I  wish  my  uncle  Toby  had  been  a  water-drinker  ; 
for  then  the  thing  had  been  accounted  for,  that  the 
first  moment  widow  Wadman  saw  him,  she  felt  some- 
thing stirring  within  her  in  his  favour.  My  uncle 
Toby's  head  at  that  time  was  full  of  other  matters,  so 
that  it  was  not  till  the  demolition  of  Dunkirk,  when 


166  THE  STOUT  OF 

all  the  other  civilities  of  Europe  were  settled,  that  he 
found  leisure  to  return  this. 

This  made  an  armistice  (that  is  speaking  with  re- 
gard to  my  uncle  Toby — but  with  respect  to  Mrs. 
Wadman,  a  vacancy)  of  almost  eleven  years.  But  in 
all  cases  of  this  nature,  as  it  is  the  second  blow,  hap- 
pen at  what  distance  of  time  it  will,  which  makes  the 
fray,  I  choose  for  that  reason  to  call  these  the  amours 
of  my  uncle  Toby  with  Mrs.  Wadman,  rather  than 
the  amours  of  Mrs.  Wadman  with  my  uncle  Toby. 
Now,  as  widow  Wadman  did  love  my  uncle  Toby,  and 
my  uncle  Toby  did  not  love  widow  Wadman,  there 
was  nothing  for  widow  Wadman  to  do,  but  to  go  on 
and  love  my  uncle  Toby,  or  let  it  alone. 

Widow  Wadman  would  do  neither  the  one  nor  the 
other. 

The  fates,  who  certainly  all  foreknew  of  these 
amours  of  widow  Wadman  and  my  uncle  Toby,  had, 
from  the  first  creation  of  matter  and  motion  (and 
with  more  courtesy  than  they  usually  do  things  of 
this  kind)  established  such  a  chain  of  causes  and 
effects  hanging  so  fast  to  one  another,  that  it  was 
scarce  possible  for  my  uncle  Toby  to  have  dwelt  in 
any  other  house  in  the  world,  or  to  have  occupied  any 
other  garden  in  Christendom,  but  the  very  house  and 
garden  which  joined  and  laid  parallel  to  Mrs.  Wad- 
man's  ;  this,  with  the  advantage  of  a  thickset  arbour 
in  Mrs.  Wadman's  garden,  but  planted  in  the  hedge- 
row of  my  uncle  Toby's,  put  all  the  occasions  into 
her  hands  which  love-militancy  wanted ;  she  could 
observe  my  uncle  Toby's  motions,  and  was  mistress 
likewise  of  his  councils  of  war  ;  and  as  his  unsus- 
pecting heart  had  given  leave  to  the  corporal,  through 
the  mediation  of  Bridget,  to  make  her  a  wicker  gate 
of  communication  to  enlarge  her  walks,  it  enabled 
her  to  carry  on  her  approaches  to  the  very  door  of 
the  sentry-box  ;  and  sometimes  out  of  gratitude, 


J/I'  UNCLE  TOST.  167 

to  make  an  attack,  and  endeavour  to  blow  my  uncle 
Toby  up  in  the  very  sentry-box  itself. 

Now,  through  all  the  lumber-rooms  of  military 
furniture,  including  both  of  horse  and  foot,  from  the 
great  arsenal  of  Venice  to  the  Tower  of  London  (ex- 
clusive) if  Mrs.  Wadrnan  had  been  rummaging  for 
seven  years  together,  and  with  Bridget  to  help  her, 
she  could  not  have  found  any  one  blind  or  mantelet  so 
fit  for  her  purpose,  as  that  which  the  expediency  of 
my  uncle  Toby's  affairs  had  fixed  up  ready  to  her 
hands. 

I  believe  I  have  not  told  you — but  I  don't  know — 

Eossibly  I  have — be  it  as  it  will,  'tis  one  of  the  num- 
er  of  those  many  things,  which  a  man  had  better  do 
over  again,  than  dispute  about  it — that  whatever  town 
or  fortress  the  corporal  was  at  work  upon,  during  the 
course  of  their  campaign,  my  uncle  Toby  always  took 
care  on  the  inside  of  his  sentry-box,  which  was  to- 
wards his  left  hand,  to  have  a  j)lan  of  the  place, 
fastened  up  with  two  or  three  pins  at  the  top,  but 
loose  at  the  bottom,  for  the  conveniency  of  holding  it 

up  to  the  eye,  &c as  occasions  required  ;  so  that 

when  an  attack  was  resolved  upon,  Mrs.  Wadman  had 
nothing  more  to  do,  when  she  had  got  advanced  to 
the  door  of  the  sentry-box,  but  to  extend  her  right 
hand  ;  and  edging  in  her  left  foot  at  the  same  move- 
ment, to  take  hold  of  the  map  or  plan,  or  upright, 
or  whatever  it  was,  and  with  outstretched  neck  meet- 
ing it  halfway,  to  advance  it  towards  her ;  on  which 
my  uncle  Toby's  passions  were  sure  to  catch  fire,  for 
he  would  instantly  take  hold  of  the  other  corner  of 
the  map  in  his  left  hand,  and  with  the  end  of  his 
pipe,  in  the  other,  begin  an  explanation. 

When  the  attack  was  advanced  to  this  point,  the 
world  will  naturally  enter  into  the  reasons  of  Mrs. 
Wadman's  next  stroke  of  generalship,  which  was,  to 
take  my  uncle  Toby's  tobacco-pipe  out  of  his  hand 
as  soon  as  she  possibly  could  ;  which,  under  one  pre- 


i68  THE  STOEY  OF 

tence  or  other,  but  generally  that  of  pointing  more 
distinctly  at  some  redoubt  or  breast-work  in  the  map, 
she  would  effect  before  my  uncle  Toby  (poor  soul !) 
had  well  marched  above  half-a-dozen  toises  with  it. 

This,  though  slight  skirmishing,  and  at  a  distance 
from  the  main  body,  yet  drew  on  the  rest ;  for  here, 
the  map  usually  falling  with  the  back  of  it,  close  to 
the  side  of  the  sentry-box,  my  uncle  Toby,  in  the 
simplicity  of  his  soul,  would  lay  his  hand  flat  upou 
it,  in  order  to  go  on  with  his  explanation  ;  and  Mrs. 
Wadman,  by  a  manoeuvre  as  quick  as  thought,  would 
as  certainly  place  hers  close  beside  it ;  this  at  once 
opened  a  communication,  large  enough  for  any  senti- 
ment to  pass  or  repass,  which  a  person  skilled  in  the 
elementary  and  practical  part  of  love-making,  has 
occasion  for — 

By  bringing  up  her  forefinger  parallel  (as  before) 
to  my  uncle  Toby  s,  it  unavoidably  brought  the  whole 
hand.  Thine,  dear  uncle  Toby !  was  never  now  in 
its  right  place — Mrs.  Wadrnan  had  it  ever  to  take  up, 
or,  with  the  gentlest  pushings  and  compressions,  that 
a  hand  to  be  removed  is  capable  of  receiving,  to 
get  it  pressed  a  hair  breadth  of  one  side  out  of  her 
way. 

So  that  my  uncle  Toby  being  thus  attacked  and 
sore  pushed  on  both  his  wings,  was  it  a  wonder,  if 
now  and  then,  it  put  his  centre  into  disorder  ] 

The  deuce  take  it !  said  my  uncle  Toby. — 

I  think,  an'  please  your  honour,  quoth  Trim,  the 
fortifications  are  quite  destroyed — and  the  bason  is 
upon  a  level  with  the  mole — I  think  so  too  ;  replied 
my  uncle  Toby  with  a  sigh  half  suppressed — but  step 
into  the  parlour,  Trim,  for  the  stipulation,  it  lies  upon 
the  table. 

It  has  lain  there,  these  six  weeks,  replied  the  cor- 
poral, till  this  very  morning  that  the  old  woman  kin- 
dled the  fire  with  it. 

Then,  said  my  uncle  Toby,  there  is  no    further 


Mr  UNCLE  TOBY.  169 

occasion  for  our  services.  The  more,  an'  please  your 
honour,  the  pity,  said  the  corporal ;  in  uttering  which 
he  cast  his  spade  into  the  wheelbarrow,  which  was 
beside  him,  with  an  air  the  most  expressive  of  dis- 
consplation  that  can  be  imagined,  and  was  heavily 
turning  about  to  look  for  his  pickaxe,  his  pioneer's 
shovel,  his  pickets,  and  other  little  military  stores,  in 
order  to  carry  them  off  the  field — when  a  heigh  ho !  from 
the  sentry-box,  which,  being  made  of  thin  slit  deal, 
reverberated  the  sound  more  sorrowfully  to  his  ear, 
forbad  him. 

No  ;  said  the  corporal  to  himself,  I'll  do  it  before 
his  honour  rises  to-morrow  morning ;  so  taking  his 
spade  out  of  the  wheelbarrow  again,  with  a  little 
earth  in  it,  as  if  to  level  something  at  the  foot  of 
the  glacis,  but  with  a  real  intent  to  approach  nearer 
to  his  master,  in  order  to  divert  him,  he  loosened  a 
sod  or  two,  pared  their  edges  with  his  spade,  and 
haying  given  them  a  gentle  blow  or  two  with  the  back 
of  it,  he  sat  himself  down  close  by  my  uncle  Toby's 
feet,  and  began  as  follows. 

It  was  a  thousand  pities,  though  I  believe,  an' 
please  your  honour,  I  am  going  to  say  but  a  foolish 
kind  of  a  thing  for  a  soldier — 

A  soldier,  cried  my  uncle  Toby,  interrupting  the 
corporal,  is  no  more  exempt  from  saying  a  foolish 
thing,  Trim,  than  a  man  of  letters.— But  not  so  often; 
an'  please  your  honour,  replied  the  corporal. — My 
uncle  Toby  gave  a  nod. 

It  was  a  thousand  pities  then,  said  the  corporal, 
casting  his  eye  upon  Dunkirk,  and  the  mole,  as  Ser- 
vius  Sulpicius,  in  returning  out  of  Asia  (when  he 
sailed  from  ^Egina  towards  Megara)  did  upon  Corinth 
and  Pyreus — 

"  It  was  a  thousand  pities,  an'  please  your  honour, 
to  destroy  these  works—  and  a  thousand  pities  to  have 
let  them  stood." 

Thou  art  right,  Trim,  in  both  cases  :  said  my  uncle 


1 70  THE  STOUT  OF 

Toby.— This,  continued  the  corporal,  is  the  reason,  that 
from  the  beginning  of  their  demolition  to  the  end,  I 
have  never  once  whistled,  or  sung,  or  laughed,  or 
cried,  or  talked  of  passed  done  deeds,  or  told  your 
honour  one  story  good  or  bad. 

Thou  hast  many  excellences,  Trim,  said  my  uncle 
Toby,  and  I  hold  it  not  the  least  of  them,  as  thou 
happenest  to  be  a  story-teller,  that  of  the  number 
thou  hast  told  me,  either  to  amuse  me  in  my  painful 
hours,  or  divert  me  in  my  grave  ones,  thou  hast 
seldom  told  me  a  bad  one. 

Because,  an'  please  your  honour,  except  one  of  a 
King  of  Bohemia  and  his  seven  castles, — they  are  all 
true  ;  for  they  are  about  myself. 

I  do  not  like  the  subject  the  worse,  Trim,  said  my 
uncle  Toby,  on  that  score  ;  but  prithee  what  is  this 
story  1  thou  hast  excited  my  curiosity. 

I'll  tell  it  your  honour,  cmoth  the  corporal  directly 
— Provided,  said  my  uncle  Toby,  looking  earnestly 
towards  Dunkirk  and  the  mole  again — provided  it  is 
not  a  merry  one  ;  to  such,  Trim,  a  man  should  ever 
bring  one  half  of  the  entertainment  along  with  him  ; 
and  the  disposition  I  am  in  at  present  would  wrong 
both  thee,  Trim,  and  thy  story.— It  is  not  a  merry  one 
by  any  means,  replied  the  corporal. — Nor  would  I 
have  it  altogether  a  grave  one,  added]my  uncle  Toby. 
— It  is  neither  the  one  nor  the  other,  replied  the  cor- 
poral, but  will  suit  your  honour  exactly. —  Then  I'll 
thank  thee  for  it  with  all  my  heart,  cried  my  uncle 
Toby,  so  prithee  begin  it,  Trim. 

THE  STORY  OF  THE  KING  OF  BOHEMIA  AND  HIS 
SEVEN  CASTLES. 

There  was  a  certain  king  of  Bo — he 

As  the  corporal  was  entering  the  confines  of  Bohemia, 

my  uncle  Toby  obliged  him  to  halt  for  a  single  moment; 

he  had  set  out  bare-headed,  having  since  he  pulled  off 


31Y  UNCLE  TOST.  171 

his  Montero  cap  in  the  latter  end  of  the  last  chapter, 
left  it  lying  beside  him  on  the  ground. 

The  eye  of  goodness  espieth  all  things  —  so  that 
before  the  corporal  had  well  got  through  the  first  five 
words  of  his  story,  had  my  uncle  Toby  twice  touched 
his  Montero  cap  with  the  end  of  his  cane,  interroga- 
tively, as  much  as  to  say,  why  don't  you  put  it  on, 
Trim "?  Trim  took  it  up  with  the  most  respectful 
slowness,  and  casting  a  glance  of  humiliation  as  he 
did  it,  upon  the  embroidery  of  the  forepart,  which 
being  dismally  tarnished  and  frayed  moreover  in  some 
of  the  principal  leaves  and  boldest  parts  of  the  pattern, 
he  laid  it  down  again  betwixt  his  two  feet,  in  order 
to  moralize  upon  the  subject. 

'Tis  every  word  of  it  but  too  true,  cried  my  uncle 
Toby,  that  thou  art  about  to  observe — 

"  Nothing  in  this  world,  Trim,  is  made  to  last  for 
ever." 

But  when  tokens,  dear  Tom,  of  thy  love  and  remem- 
brance wear  out,  said  Trim,  what  shall  we  say  1 

There  is  no  occasion,  Trim,  quoth  my  uncle  Toby, 
to  say  anything  else ;  and  was  a  man  to  puzzle  his 
brains  till  doomsday,  I  believe,  Trim,  it  would  be 
impossible. 

The  corporal  perceiving  my  uncle  Toby  was  in  the 
right,  and  that  it  would  be  in  vain  for  the  wit  of  man 
to  think  of  extracting  a  purer  moral  from  his  cap, 
without  further  attempting  it,  he  put  it  on  ;  and 
passing  his  hand  across  his  forehead  to  rub  out  a 
pensive  wrinkle,  which  the  text  and  the  doctrine 
between  them  had  engendered,  he  returned,  with  the 
same  look  and  tone  of  voice,  to  his  story  of  the  king 
of  Bohemia  and  his  seven  castles. 

There  was  a  certain  king  of  Bohemia,  but  in  whose 
reign,  except  his  own,  I  am  not  able  to  inform  your 
honour. — 

I  do  not  desire  it  of  thee,  Trim,  by  any  means,  cried 
my  uncle  Toby. 


172  THE  STOKY  OF 

It  was  a  little  before  the  time,  an'  please  your  honour, 
when  giants  were  beginning  to  leave  off  breeding ;  but 
in  what  year  of  our  Lord  that  was, — 

I  would  not  give  a  halfpenny  to  know,  said  my  uncle 
Toby. 

Only,  an'  please  your  honour,  it  makes  a  story  look 
the  better  in  the  face. 

'Tis  thy  own,  Trim,  so  ornament  it  after  thy  own 
fashion ;  and  take  any  date,  continued  my  uncle  Toby, 
looking  pleasantly  upon  him  —  take  any  date  in  the 
whole  world  thou  choosest,  and  put  it  to  —  thou  art 
heartily  welcome. 

The  corporal  bowed. 

In  the  year  of  our  Lord,  one  thousand  seven  hundred 
and  twelve,  there  was,  an'  please  your  honour — 

— To  tell  thee  truly,  Trim,  quoth  my  uncle  Toby, 
any  other  date  would  have  pleased  me  much  better, 
not  only  on  account  of  the  sad  stain  upon  our  history 
that  year,  in  marching  off  our  troops,  and  refusing  to 
cover  the  siege  of  Quesnoi,  though  Fagel  was  carrying 
on  the  works  with  such  incredible  vigour — but  like- 
wise on  the  score,  Trim,  of  thy  own  story  ;  because  if 
there  are — and  which,  from  what  thou  hast  dropped 
I  partly  suspect  to  be  the  fact — if  there  are  giants 
in  it — 

There  is  but  one,  an'  please  your  honour. 

'Tis  as  bad  as  twenty,  replied  my  uncle  Toby — thou 
should'st  have  carried  him  back  some  seven  or  eight 
hundred  years  out  of  harm's  way,  both  of  critics  and 
other  people ;  and  therefore  I  would  advise  thee,  if 
ever  thou  tellest  it  again — 

If  I  live,  an'  please  your  honour,  but  once  to  get 
through  it,  I  will  never  tell  it  again,  quoth  Trim,  either 
to  man,  woman,  or  child — Poo,  poo !  said  my  uncle 
Toby,  but  with  accents  of  such  sweet  encouragement 
did  he  utter  it,  that  the  corporal  went  on  with  his  story 
with  more  alacrity  than  ever. 

There  was,  an'  please  your  honour,  said  the  corporal, 


MY  UNCLE  TOST.  173 

raising  his  voice  and  rubbing  the  palms  of  his  two 
hands  cheerily  together  as  he  began,  a  certain  king  of 
Bohemia — 

Leave  out  the  date  entirely,  Trim,  quoth  my  uncle 
Toby,  leaning  forwards,  and  laying  his  hand  gently  - 
upon  the  corporal's  shoulder  to  temper  the  interruption 
— leave  it  out  entirely,  Trim  ;  a  story  passes  very  well 
without  these  niceties,  unless  one  is  pretty  sure  of 
;em — Sure  of  'em !  said  the  corporal,  shaking  his  head. 

Right ;  answered  my  uncle  Toby,  it  is  not  easy, 
Trim,  for  one,  bred  up  as  thou  and  I  have  been  to 
arms,  who  seldom  looks  further  forward  than  to  the 
end  of  his  musket,  or  backwards  beyond  his  knapsack, 
to  know  much  about  this  matter. — God  bless  your 
honour  !  said  the  corporal,  won  by  the  manner  of  my 
uncle  Toby's  reasoning,  as  much  as  by  the  reasoning 
itself,  he  has  something  else  to  do  ;  if  not  on  action, 
or  a  march,  or  upon  duty  in  his  garrison,  he  has  his 
firelock,  an'  please  your  honour,  to  furbish,  his  accoutre- 
ments to  take  care  of,  his  regimentals  to  mend,  himself 
to  shave  and  keep  clean,  so  as  to  appear  always  like 
what  he  is  upon  the  parade  ;  what  business,  added 
the  corporal  triumphantly,  has  a  soldier,  an'  please 
your  honour,  to  know  anything  at  all  of  geography. 

— Thou  would'st  have  said  chronology,  Trim,  said  my 
uncle  Toby ;  for  as  for  geography,  'tis  of  absolute  use  to 
him;  he  must  be  acquainted  intimately  with  every  coun- 
try and  its  boundaries  where  his  profession  carries  him; 
he  should  know  every  town  and  city,  and  village  and 
hamlet,  with  the  canals,  the  roads,  and  hollow  ways 
which  lead  up  to  them  ;  there  is  not  a  river  or  a  rivulet 
he  passes,  Trim,  but  he  should  be  able  at  first  sight  to 
tell  thee  what  is  its  name — in  what  mountain  it  takes 
its  rise — what  is  its  course — how  far  it  is  navigable — 
where  fordable — where  not  •  he  should  know  the  fer- 
tility of  every  valley,  as  well  as  the  hind  who  ploughs 
it ;  and  be  able  to  describe,  or  if  it  is  required,  to  give 
thee  an  exact  map  of  all  the  plains  and  defiles,  the 


174  THE  STORY  OF 

forts,  the  acclivities,  the  woods  and  morasses,  through 
and  by  which  his  army  is  to  march. 

Is  it  else  to  becqnceiyed.corporal.continued  my  uncle 
Toby,  rising  up  in  his  sentry-box,  as  he  began  to 
warm  in  this  part  of  his  discourse,  how  Marl  borough 
could  have  marched  his  army  from  the  banks  of  the 
Maes  to  Belburg  ;  from  Belburg  to  Kerpenord — (here 
the  corporal  could  sit  no  longer)  from  Kerpenord, 
Trim,  to  Kalsaken  ;  from  Kalsaken  to  Newdorf  ;  from 
Newdorf  to  Landenbourg :  from  Landenbourg  to 
Mildenheim ;  from  Mildenheim  to  Elchingen  ;  from 
Elchingen  to  Gin  gen  ;  from  Gingen  to  Balmerchoffeu  ; 
from  Balmerchoften  to  Skelleuburg,  where  he  broke 
in  upon  the  enemy's  works  ;  forced  his  passage  over 
the  Danube  ;  crossed  the  Lech— pushed  on  his  troops 
into  the  heart  of  the  empire,  marching  at  the  head  of 
them  through  Friburg,  Hokenwert,  and  Schonevelt, 
to  the  plains  of  Blenheim  and  Hochstet  ] — Great  as 
he  was,  corporal,  he  could  not  have  advanced  a  step 
or  made  one  single  day's  march  without  the  aid  of 
geography.  As  for  chronology,  I  own.  Trim,  continued 
my  uncle  Toby,  sitting  down  again  coolly  in  his 
sentry-box,  that  of  all  others,  it  seems  a  science  which 
the  soldier  might  best  spare,  was  it  not  for  the  lights 
which  that  science  must  one  day  give  him,  in  deter- 
mining the  invention  of  powder  ]  and  the  Chinese, 
added  my  uncle  Toby,  embarrass  us,  and  all  accounts 
of  it,  still  more,  by  boasting  of  the  invention  some 
hundreds  of  years  even  before  him. 

They  are  a  pack  of  liars,  I  believe,  cried  Trim. 

They  are  somehow  or  other  deceived,  said  my  uncle 
Toby,  in  this  matter,  as  is  plain  to  me  from  the  present 
miserable  state  of  military  architecture  amongst  them ; 
which  consists  of  nothing  more  than  a  fosse  with  a 
brick  wall  without  flanks — and  for  what  they  give  us 
as  a  bastion  at  each  angle  of  it,  'tis  so  barbarously 
constructed,  that  it  looks  for  all  the  world — Like  one 
of  my  seven  castles,  an'  please  your  honour,  quoth 
Trim. 


MY  UNCLE  TOST.  175 

My  uncle  Toby,  though  in  the  utmost  distress  for  a 
comparison,  most  courteously  refused  Trim's  offer,  till 
Trim  telling  him,  he  had  half-a-dozen  more  in  Bohe- 
mia, which  he  knew  not  how  to  get  off  his  hands,  my 
uncle  Toby  was  so  touched  with  the  pleasantry  of 
heart  of  the  corporal,  that  he  discontinued  his  disser- 
tation upon  gunpowder,  and  begged  the  corporal 
forthwith  to  go  on  with  his  story  of  the  King  of 
Bohemia  and  his  seven  castles. 

This  unfortunate  King  of  Bohemia,  said  Trim — Was 
he  unfortunate  then  1  cried  my  uncle  Toby,  for  he 
had  been  so  wrapped  up  in  his  dissertation  upon  gun- 
powder and  other  military  affairs,  that  though  he  had 
desired  the  corporal  to  go  on,  yet  the  many  interrup- 
tions he  had  given,  dwelt  not  so  strong  upon  his 
fancy,  as  to  account  for  the  epithet — Was  he  unfortu- 
nate then,  Trim  ]  said  my  uncle  Toby,  pathetically — 
The  corporal,  wishing  first  the  word  and  all  its 
synonimas  at  the  devil,  forthwith  began  to  run  back 
in  his  mind  the  principal  events  in  the  King  of  Bohe- 
mia's story;  from  every  one  of  which,  it  appearing 
that  he  was  the  most  fortunate  man  that  ever  existed 
in  the  world — it  put  the  corporal  to  a  stand  :  for  not 
caring  to  retract  his  epithet,  and  less  to  explain  it, 
and  least  of  all,  to  twist  his  tale  (like  men  of  lore)  to 
serve  a  system,  he  looked  up  in  my  uncle  Toby's  face 
for  assistance — but  seeing  it  was  the  very  thing,  my 
uncle  Toby  sat  in  expectation  of  himself,  after  a  hum 
and  a  haw,  he  went  on — 

The  King  of  Bohemia,  an'  please  your  honour, 
replied  the  corporal,  was  unfortunate,  as  thus — that 
taking  great  pleasure  and  delight  in  navigation  and 
all  sort  of  sea  affairs,  and  there  happening  through- 
out the  whole  kingdom  of  Bohemia,  to  be  no  seaport 
town  whatever — 

How  the  deuce  should  there,  Trim  1  cried  my  uncle 
Toby  ;  for  Bohemia  being  totally  inland,  it  could  have 
happened  no  otherwise — It  might ;  said  Trim,  if  it 
had  pleased  God. 


176  TILE  STORY  OF 

My  uncle  Toby  never  spoke  of  the  being  and 
natural  attributes  of  God,  but  with  diffidence  and 
hesitation. 

I  believe  not,  replied  my  uncle  Toby,  after  some 
pause— for  being  inland,  as  I  said,  and  having  Silesia 
and  Moravia  to  the  east ;  Lusatia  and  Upper  Saxony 
to  the  north  ;  Franconia  to  the  west ;  and  Bavaria  to 
the  south  :  Bohemia  could  not  have  been  propelled  to 
the  sea  without  ceasing  to  be  Bohemia — nor  could  the 
sea,  on  the  other  hand,  have  come  up  to  Bohemia, 
without  overflowing  a  great  part  of  Germany,  and 
destroying  millions  of  unfortunate  inhabitants  who 
could  make  no  defence  against  it — Scandalous  !  cried 
Trim — Which  would  bespeak,  added  my  uncle  Toby, 
mildly,  such  a  want  of  compassion  in  him  who  is 
the  father  of  it,  that,  I  think,  Trim,  the  thing  could 
have  happened  no  way. 

The  corporal  made  a  bow  of  unfeigned  conviction ; 
and  went  on. 

Now  the  King  of  Bohemia  with  his  queen  and 
courtiers  happening  one  fine  summer's  evening  to 
walk  out — Aye  !  there  the  word  happening  is  right, 
Trim,  cried  my  uncle  Toby  ;  for  the  King  of  Bohemia 
and  his  queen  might  have  walked  out,  or  let  it  alone  ; 
'twas  a  matter  of  contingency,  which  might  happen, 
or  not,  just  as  chance  ordered  it. 

King  William  was  of  opinion,  an'  please  your 
honour,  quoth  Trim,  that  everything  was  predestined 
for  us  in  this  world ;  insomuch  that  he  would  often 
say  to  his  soldiers,  that  "every  ball  had  its  billet." 
He  was  a  great  man,  said  my  uncle  Toby — And  I 
believe,  continued  Trim,  to  this  day,  that  the  shot 
which  disabled  me  at  the  battle  of  Landen.  was 
pointed  at  my  knee  for  no  other  purpose,  but  to  take 
me  out  of  his  service,  and  place  me  in  your  honour's, " 
where  I  should  be  taken  so  much  better  care  of  in 
my  old  age — It  shall  never,  Trim,  be  construed  other- 
wise, said  my  uncle  Toby. 


MY  UNCLE  TOBY.  177 

The  heart,  both  of  the  master  and  the  man,  were 
alike  subject  to  sudden  overflowings  ; — a  short  silence 
ensued. 

Besides,  said  the  corporal,  resuming  the  discourse, 
but  in  a  gayer  accent — if  it  had  not  been  for  that 
single  shot,  I  had  never,  an'  please  your  honour,  been 
in  love.  So,  them  wast  once  in  love,  Trim  !  said  my 
uncle  Toby,  smiling. 

Souse  !  replied  the  corporal—  over  head  and  ears, 
an'  please  your  honour.  Prithee  when  1  where  1  and 
how  came  it  to  pass  1  I  never  heard  one  word  of  it 
before,  quoth  my  uncle  Toby  :  I  daresay,  answered 
Trim,  that  every  drummer  and  Serjeant's  son  in  the 
regiment  knew  of  it. — It's  high  time  I  should — said 
my  uncle  Toby. 

Your  honour  remembers  with  concern,  said  the 
corporal,  the  total  rout  and  confusion  of  our  camp 
and  army  at  the  affair  of  Landen  ;  everyone  was  left 
to  shift  for  himself  ;  and  if  it  had  not  been  for  the 
regiments  of  Wyndham,  Lumley,  and  Galway,  which 
covered  the  retreat  over  the  bridge  of  Neerspeeken, 
the  king  himself  could  scarce  have  gained  it — he 
was  pressed  hard,  as  your  honour  knows,  on  every 
side  of  him. 

Gallant  mortal !  cried  my  uncle  Toby,  caught  up 
with  enthusiasm — this  moment,  now  that  all  is  lost,  I 
see  him  galloping  across  me,  corporal,  to  the  left,  to 
bring  up  the  remains  of  the  English  horse  along  with 
him  to  support  the  right,  and  tear  the  laurel  from 
Luxembourg's  brows,  if  yet  'tis  possible — I  see  him 
with  the  knot  of  his  scarf  just  shot  off,  infusing  fresh 
spirits  into  poor  Galway's  regiment,  riding  along  the 
line,  then  wheeling  about,  and  charging  Conti  at  the 
head  of  it.  Brave  !  brave  by  heaven  !  cried  my  uncle 
Toby — he  deserves  a  crown — As  richly,  as  a  thief  a 
halter ;  shouted  Trim. 

My  uncle  Toby  knew  the  corporal's  loyalty  ; — other- 
wise the  comparison  was  not  at  all  to  his  mind — it  did 

12 


178  THE  STOEY  OF 

not  altogether  strike  the  corporal's  fancy  when  he  had 
made  it,  but  it  could  not  be  recalled,  so  he  had  nothing 
to  do  but  proceed. 

As  the  number  of  wounded  was  prodigious,  and  no 
one  had  time  to  think  of  anything,  but  his  own  safety. 
— Though  Talmash,  said  my  uncle  Toby,  brought  off 
the  foot  with  great  prudence — But  I  was  left  upon 
the  field,  said  the  corporal. — Thou  wast  so  ;  poor 
fellow  !  replied  my  uncle  Toby — So  that  it  was  noon 
the  next  day,  continued  the  corporal,  before  I  was 
exchanged,  and  put  into  a  cart  with  thirteen  or  four- 
teen more,  in  order  to  be  conveyed  to  our  hospital. 

There  is  no  part  of  the  body,  an'  please  your  honour, 
where  a  wound  occasions  more  intolerable  anguish 
than  upon  the  knee. — 

Except  the  groin  ;  said  my  uncle  Toby.  An'  please 
your  honour,  replied  the  corporal,  the  knee,  in  my 
opinion,  must  certainly  be  the  most  acute,  there  being 
so  many  tendons  and  what-d'ye-call-'ems  all  about  it. 

The  dispute  was  maintained  with  amicable  and 
equal  force  betwixt  my  uncle  Toby  and  Trim  for  some 
time  ;  till  Trim  at  length  recollecting  that  he  had 
often  cried  at  his  master  s  sufferings,  but  never  shed  a 
tear  at  his  own,  was  for  giving  up  the  point,  which 
my  uncle  Toby  would  not  allow — 'Tis  a  proof  of 
nothing,  Trim,  said  he,  but  the  generosity  of  thy 
temper. 

So  that  whether  the  pain  of  a  wound  in  the  groin 
fctjeteri$ partinu}  is  greater  than  the  pain  of  a  wound 
in  the  knee — or 

Whether  the  pain  of  a  wound  in  the  knee  is  not 
greater  than  the  pain  of  a  wound  in  the  groin — are 
points  which  to  this  day  remain  unsettled. 

The  anguish  of  my  knee,  continued  the  corporal, 
was  excessive  in  itself ;  and  the  uneasiness  of  the 
cart,  with  the  roughness  of  the  roads,  which  were 
terribly  cut  up,  making  bad  still  worse,  every  step 


MY  UN  OLE  TOST.  179 

was  deatli  to  me  :  so  that  with  the  loss  of  blood,  and 
the  want  of  care-taking  of  me,  and  a  fever  I  felt 
coming  on  besides — (Poor  soul !  said  my  uncle  Toby) 
all  together,  an'  please  your  honour,  was  more  than  I 
could  sustain. 

I  was  telling  my  sufferings  to  a  young  woman  at  a 
peasant's  house,  where  our  cart,  which  was  the  last  of 
the  line,  had  halted  ;  they  had  helped  me  in,  and  the 
young  woman  had  taken  a  cordial  out  of  her  pocket 
and  dropped  it  upon  some  sugar,  and  seeing  it  had 
cheered  me,  she  had  given  it  me  a  second  and  a  third 
time — So  I  was  telling  her,  an'  please  your  honour, 
the  anguish  I  was  in,  and  saying  it  was  so  intolerable 
to  me,  that  I  had  much  rather  lie  down  upon  the  bed, 
turning  my  face  towards  one  which  was  in  the  corner 
of  the  room,  and  die,  than  go  on,  when,  upon  her 
attempting  to  lead  me  to  it,  I  fainted  away  in  her 
arms.  She  was  a  good  soul !  as  your  honour,  said  the 
corporal,  wiping  his  eyes,  will  hear. 

I  thought  love  had  been  a  joyous  thing,  quoth  my 
uncle  Toby. 

JTis  the  most  serious  thing,  an'  please  your  honour 
(sometimes)  that  is  in  the  world. 

By  the  persuasion  of  the  young  woman,  continued 
the  corporal,  the  cart  with  the  wounded  men  set  off 
without  me :  she  assured  them  I  should  expire  im- 
mediately if  I  was  put  into  the  cart.  So  when  I  came 
to  myself,  I  found  myself  in  a  still  quiet  cottage,  with 
no  one  but  the  young  woman,  and  the  peasant  and 
his  wife.  I  was  laid  across  the  bed  in  a  corner  of  the 
room,  with  my  wounded  leg  upon  a  chair,  and  the 
young  woman  beside  ne,  holding  the  corner  of  her 
handkerchief  dipped  in  vinegar  to  my  nose  with  one 
hand,  and  rubbing  my  temples  with  the  other. 

I  took  her  at  first  for  the  daughter  of  the  peasant 
(for  it  was  no  inn) — so  had  offered  her  a  little  purse 
with  eighteen  florins,  which  my  poor  brother  Tom 

12—2 


i8o  THE  STOUT  OF 

(here  Trim  wiped  his  eyes)  had  sent  me  as  a  token,  by 
a  recruit,  just  before  he  set  out  for  Lisbon. 

The  young  woman  called  the  old  man  and  his  wife 
into  the  room,  to  show  them  the  money,  in  order  to 
gain  me  credit  for  a  bed  and  what  little  necessaries 
I  should  want,  till  I  should  be  in  a  condition  to  be 
got  to  the  hospital — Come  then  !  said  she,  tying  up 
the  little  purse— I'll  be  your  banker— but  as  that 
office  alone  will  not  keep  me  employed,  I'll  be  your 
nurse  too. 

I  thought  by  her  manner  of  speaking  this,  as  well 
as  by  her  dress,  which  I  then  began  to  consider  more 
attentively,  that  the  young  woman  could  not  be  the 
daughter  of  the  peasant 

She  was  in  black  down  to  her  toes,  with  her  hair 
concealed  under  a  cambric  border,  laid  close  to  her 
forehead  :  she  was  one  of  those  kind  of  nuns,  an' 
please  your  honour,  of  which,  your  honour  knows, 
there  are  a  good  many  in  Flanders  which  they  let  go 
loose — By  thy  description,  Trim,  said  my  uncle  Toby, 
I  daresay  she  was  a  young  Beguine,  of  which  there  are 
none  to  be  found  anywhere  but  in  the  Spanish 
Netherlands — except  at  Amsterdam — they  differ  from 
nuns  in  this,  that  they  can  quit  their  cloister  if  they 
choose  to  marry ;  they  visit  and  take  care  of  the 
sick  by  profession — I  had'  rather,  for  my  own  part, 
they  did  it  out  of  good  nature. 

She  often  told  me,  quoth  Trim,  she  did  it  for  the 
love  of  Christ — I  did  not  like  it. — I  believe,  Trim, 
we  are  both  wrong,  said  my  uncle  Toby — we'll  ask 
Mr.  Yorick  about  it  to-night  at  my  brother  Shandy's, 
so  put  me  in  mind  ;  added  my  uncle  Toby. 

The  young  Beguine,  continued  the  corporal,  had 
scarce  given  herself  time  to  tell  me  "  she  would  be 
my  nurse,''  when  she  hastily  turned  about  to  begin 
the  office  of  one,  and  prepare  something  for  me,  and 
in  a  short  time,  though  I  thought  it  a  long  one,  she 
came  back  with  flannels,  <tc.,  <tc.,  and  having  fomented 


MY  UNCLE  TOBY.  181 

my  knee  soundly  for  a  couple  of  hours,  &c.,  and 
made  me  a  thin  basin  of  gruel  for  my  supper,  she 
wished  me  rest,  and  promised  to  be  with  me  early  in 
the  morning.  She  wished  me,  an'  please  your  honour, 
what  was  not  to  be  had.  My  fever  ran  very  high 
that  night — her  figure  made  sad  disturbance  within 
me — I  was  every  moment  cutting  the  world  in  two, 
to  give  her  half  of  it — and  every  moment  was  I  cry- 
ing, that  I  had  nothing  but  a  knapsack  and  eighteen 
florins  to  share  with  her.  The  whole  night  long  was 
the  fair  Beguine,  like  an  angel,  close  by  my  bed  side, 
holding  back  my  curtain  and  offering  me  cordials,  and 
I  was  only  awakened  from  my  dream  by  her  coming 
there  at  the  hour  promised,  and  giving  them  in 
reality.  In  truth,  she  was  scarce  ever  from  me, 
and  so  accustomed  was  I  to  receive  life  from  her 
hands,  that  my  heart  sickened,  and  I  lost  colour  when 
she  left. 

But  'tis  no  marvel,  continued  the  corporal,  seeing 
my  uncle  Toby  musing  upon  it — for  love,  an'  please 
your  honour,  is  exactly  like  war,  in  this ;  that  a 
soldier,  though  he  has  escaped  three  weeks  complete 
o'  Saturday  night,  may  nevertheless  be  shot  through 
his  heart  on  Sunday  morning.  It  happened  so  here, 
an'  please  your  honour,  with  this  difference  only,  that 
it  was  on  Sunday  in  the  afternoon,  when  I  fell 
in  love  all  at  once  with  a  sisserara — it  burst  upon  me, 
an'  please  your  honour,  like  a  bomb,  scarce  giving  me 
time  to  say  "  God  bless  me." 

I  thought,  Trim,  said  my  uncle  Toby,  a  man  never 
fell  in  love  so  very  suddenly. 

Yes,  an'  please  your  honour,  if  he  is  in  the  way  of 
it — replied  Trim. 

I  prithee,  quoth  my  uncle  Toby,  inform  me  how 
this  matter  happened. 

With  all  pleasure,  said  the  corporal,  making  a  bow. 

I  had  escaped,  continued  the  corporal,  all  that  time 
from  falling  in  love,  and  had  gone  on  to  the  end  of 


i82  THE  STORY  OF 

the  chapter  had  it  not  been  predestined  otherwise — 
there  is  no  resisting  our  fate. 

It  was  on  a  Sunday,  in  the  afternoon,  as  I  told  your 
honour — 

The  old  man  and  his  wife  had  walked  out— 

Everything  was  still  and  hush  as  midnight  about 
the  house — 

There  was  not  so  much  as  a  duck  or  a  duckling 
about  the  yard — 

When  the  fair  Beguine  came  in  to  see  me. 

My  wound  was  then  in  a  fair  way  of  doing  well 
— the  inflammation  had  been  gone  off  for  some  time, 
bat  it  was  succeeded  with  an  itching  both  above  and 
below  my  knee,  so  insufferable,  that  I  had  not  shut 
my  eyes  the  whole  night  for  it. 

Let  me  see  it,  said  she,  kneeling  down  upon  the 
ground  parallel  to  my  knee,  and  laying  her  hand  upon 
the  part  below  it. — It  only  wants  rubbing  a  little, 
said  the  Beguine ;  so  covering  it  with  the  bed 
clothes,  she  began  with  the  forefinger  of  her  right 
hand  to  rub  under  my  knee. 

She  continued  rubbing  for  a  good  while  ;  it  then 
came  into  my  head,  that  I  should  fall  in  love.  I 
blushed  when  I  saw  how  white  a  hand  she  had — I 
shall  never,  an'  please  your  honour,  behold  another 
hand  so  white  whilst  I  live. 

The  young  Beguine,  continued  the  corporal,  per- 
ceiving it  was  of  great  service  to  me,  then  rubbed 
with  her  whole  hand  :  I  will  never  say  another  word, 
an'  please  your  honour,  upon  hands  again,  but  it 
was  softer  than  satin. 

Prithee  Trim,  commend  it  as  much  as  thou  wilt, 
said  my  uncle  Toby  ;  I  shall  hear  thy  story  with 
more  delight.— The  corporal  thanked  his  master  most 
unfeignedly  ;  but  having  nothing  to  say  upon  the 
Beguine's  hand,  but  the  same  over  again,  he  proceeded 
to  the  effects  of  it. 

The  fair  Beguine,  said  the  corporal,  continued  rub- 


MY  UNCLE  TOBY.  183 

bing  till  I  feared  her  zeal  would  weary  her— "I 
would  do  a  thousand  times  more,"  said  she,  "  for  the 
love  of  Christ." — I  perceived,  then,  I  was  beginning 
to  be  in  love. — I  seized  her  hand. — 

And  then,  thou  clappedst  it  to  thy  lips,  Trim,  said 
my  uncle  Toby— and  madest  a  speech. 

Whether  the  corporal's  amour  terminated  in  the  way 
my  uncle  Toby  described  it,  is  not  material ;  it  is 
enough  that  it  contained  in  it  the  essence  of  all  the 
love  romances  which  ever  have  been  wrote  since  the 
beginning  of  the  world. 


CHAPTEE   XII. 


THE   SENTRY-BOX. 

soon  as  the  corporal  had  finished  the 
story  of  his  amour,  or  rather  my  uncle 
Toby  for  him,  Mrs.  "VVadman  silently  sallied 
forth,  passed  the  wicker  gate,  and  ad- 
vanced slowly  towards  my  uncle  Toby's  sentry-box  : 
the  disposition  which  Trim  had  made  in  my  uncle 
Toby's  mind,  was  too  favourable  a  crisis  to  be  let 
slipped. 

The  attack  was  to  be  determined  upon  :  it  was 
facilitated  still  more  by  my  uncle  Toby's  having 
ordered  the  corporal  to  wheel  off  the  pioneer's  shovel, 
the  spade,  the  pickaxe,  the  pickets,  and  other  mili- 
tary stores  which  lay  scattered  upon  the  ground  where 
Dunkirk  stood — The  corporal  had  marched— the  field 
was  clear. 

Now  if  ever  plan,  independent  of  all  circumstances, 
deserved  registering  in  letters  of  gold  (I  mean  in  the 
archives  of  Gotham) — it  was  certainly  the  plan  of 
Mrs.  "Wadman's  attack  of  my  uncle  Toby  in  his  sentry- 
box,  by  plan — Now  the  plan  hanging  up  in  it  at  this 
juncture,  being  the  plan  of  Dunkirk,  and  the  tale  of 
Dunkirk  a  tale  of  relaxation,  it  opposed  every  im- 
pression she  could  make. 


MY  UNCLE  TOST.  185 

0  !  let  woman  alone  for  this.    Mrs.  Wadman  had 
scarce  opened  the  wicker-gate,  when  she  formed  a 
new  attack  in  a  moment. 

1  am  half  distracted,  Captain    Shandy,  said  Mrs. 
Wadman,  holding  up  her    cambric  handkerchief  to 
her  left  eye,  as  she  approached  the  door  of  my  uncle 
Toby's  sentry-box — a  mote,  or  sand,  or  something,  I 
know  not  what,  has  got  into  this  eye  of  mine — do 
look  into  it — it  is  not  in  the  white — 

In  saying  which,  Mrs.  Wadman  edged  herself  close 
in  beside  my  uncle  Toby,  and  squeezing  herself  down 
upon  the  corner  of  his  bench,  she  gave  him  an  oppor- 
tunity of  doing  it  without  rising  up. — Do  look  into  it 
— said  she. 

Honest  soul !  thou  didst  look  into  it  with  as  much 
innocency  of  heart  as  ever  child  looked  into  a  raree 
show-box :  and  'twere  as  much  a  sin  to  have  hurt 
thee. 

If  a  man  will  be  peeping  of  his  own  accord  into 
things  of  that  nature — I've  nothing  to  say  to  it. 

My  uncle  Toby  never  did ;  and  I  will  answer  for 
him,  that  he  would  have  sat  quietly  upon  a  sofa  from 
June  to  January,  with  an  eye  as  fine  as  the  Thra- 
cian  Rodope's  beside  him,  without  being  able  to  tell, 
whether  it  was  a  black  or  a  blue  one. 

The  difficulty  was  to  get  my  uncle  Toby,  to  look  at 
one  at  all. 

;Tis  surmounted.    And 

I  see  him  yonder  with  his  pipe  pendulous  in  his 
hand,  and  the  ashes  falling  out  of  it,  looking,  and 
looking,  then  rubbing  his  eyes,  and  looking  again, 
with  twice  the  good  nature  that  ever  Galileo  looked 
for  a  spot  in  the  sun. 

In  vain  !  for  by  all  the  powers  which  animate  the 
organ,  widow  Wadman's  left  eye  shines  this  moment 
as  lucid  as  her  right — there  is  neither  mote,  or  sand, 
or  dust,  or  chaff,  or  speck,  or  particle  of  opaque  matter 


1 86  THE  STOEY  OF 

floating  in  it — there  is  nothing,  iny  dear  paternal 
uncle  !  but  one  lambent  delicious  fire,  furtively  shoot- 
ing out  from  every  part  of  it,  in  all  directions,  into 
thine — 

— If  thou  lookest,  uncle  Toby,  in  search  of  this  mote 
one  moment  longer — thou  art  undone. 

I  protest,  Madam,  said  my  uncle  Toby,  I  can  see 
nothing  whatever  in  your  eye. 

It  is  not  in  the  white ;  said  Mrs.  Wadman :  my  uncle 
Toby  looked  with  might  and  main  into  the  pupil. 

Now  of  all  the  eyes,  whichever  were  created — from 
your  own,  madam,  up  to  those  of  Venus  herself — there 
never  was  an  eye  of  them  all,  so  fitted  to  rob  my  uncle 
Toby  of  his  repose,  as  the  very  eye  at  which  he  was 
looking — it  was  not,  madam,  a  rolling  eye — a  romping 
or  a  wanton  one — nor  was  it  an  eye  sparkling,  petulant 
or  imperious,  of  high  claims  and  terrifying  exactions, 
which  would  have  curdled  at  once  that  milk  of  human 
nature,  of  which  my  uncle  Toby  was  made  up — but 
'twas  an  eye  full  of  gentle  salutations,  and  soft  re- 
sponses— speaking,  not  like  the  trumpet-stop  of  some 
ill-made  organ,  in  which  many  an  eye  I  talk  to,  holds 
coarse  converse,  but  whispering  soft,  like  the  last  low 
accents  of  an  expiring  saint  —  "  How  can  you  live 
comfortless,  Captain  Shandy,  and  alone,  without  a 
bosom  to  lean  your  head  on — or  trust  your  cares  to  T 

It  was  an  eye — 

But  I  shall  be  in  love-with  it  myself,  if  I  say  another 
word  about  it. 

It  did  my  uncle  Toby's  business — 

There  is  nothing  shows  the  characters  of  my  father 
and  my  uncle  Toby,  in  a  more  entertaining  light,  than 
their  different  manner  of  deportment,  under  the  same 
accident  —  for  I  call  not  love  a  misfortune,  from  a 
persuasion,  that  a  man's  heart  is  ever  the  better  for  it 
— Great  God  !  what  must  my  uncle  Toby's  have  been, 
when  'twas  all  benignity  without  it. 

My  father,  as  appears  from  many  of  his  papers,  was 


MY  UNCLE  TOST.  187 

very  subject  to  this  passion,  before  lie  married — but 
from  a  little  subacid  kind  of  drollish  impatience  in 
his  nature,  whenever  it  befell  him,  he  would  never 
submit  to  it  like  a  Christian  ;  but  would  pish,  and 
huff,  and  bounce,  and  kick,  and  play  the  devil,  and 
write  the  bitterest  philippics  against  the  eye  that  ever 
man  wrote. — In  short,  during  the  whole  paroxysm,  my 
father  was  all  abuse  and  foul  language,  approaching 
rather  towards  malediction— yet  never  concluded  his 
chapter  of  curses  upon  it,  without  cursing  himself  into 
the  bargain,  as  one  of  the  most  egregious  fools  and 
coxcombs,  he  would  say,  that  ever  was  let  loose  in  the 
world. 

My  uncle  Toby,  on  the  contrary,  took  it  like  a  lamb 
— sat  still  and  let  the  poison  work  in  his  veins  without 
resistance — in  the  sharpest  exacerbations  of  his  wound 
(like  that  on  his  groin)  he  never  dropped  one  fretful 
or  discontented  word — he  blamed  neither  heaven  nor 
earth,  or  thought  or  spoke  an  injurious  thing  of  any- 
body, or  any  part  of  it ;  he  sat  solitary  and  pensive 
with  his  pipe,  looking  at  his  lame  leg,  then  whiffing 
out  a  sentimental  heigh  ho  !  which,  mixing  with  the 
smoke,  incommoded  no  one  mortal. 

He  took  it  like  a  lamb,  I  say. 

The  world  is  ashamed  of  being  virtuous,  my  uncle 
Toby  knew  little  of  the  world  ;  and  therefore  when 
he  felt  he  was  in  love  with  widow  Wadman,  he  had 
no  conception  that  the  thing  was  any  more  to  be  made 
a  mystery  of,  than  if  Mrs.  Wadman  had  given  him  a 
cut  with  a  gapped  knife  across  his  finger  :  had  it  been 
otherwise  —  yet  as  he  ever  looked  upon  Trim  as  a 
humble  friend ;  and  saw  fresh  reasons  every  day  of 
his  life,  to  treat  him  as  such,  it  would  have  made  no 
variation  in  the  manner  in  which  he  informed  him  of 
the  affair. 

"  I  am  in  love,  corporal ! "  quoth  my  uncle  Toby. 

In  love  ! — said  the  corporal — your  honour  was  very 
well  the  day  before  yesterday,  when  I  was  telling  your 


i88  THE  STOUT  OF 

honour  the  story  of  the  King  of  Bohemia — Bohemia ! 
said  my  uncle  Toby  ....  musing  a  long  time.  What 
became  of  that  story,  Trim  1 

We  lost  it,  an'  please  your  honour,  somehow  betwixt 
us — but  your  honour  was  as  free  from  love  then,  as  I 
am — 'twas,  just  whilst  thou  went'st  off  with  the  wheel- 
barrow— with  Mrs.  Wadman,  quoth  my  uncle  Toby 
— She  has  left  a  ball  here— added  my  uncle  Toby, 
pointing  to  his  breast — 

She  can  no  more,  and  please  your  honour,  stand  a 
siege,  than  she  can  fly — cried  the  corporal — 

But  as  we  are  neighbours,  Trim,  the  best  way  I 
think  is  to  let  her  know  it  civilly  first — quoth  my 
uncle  Toby. 

Now  if  I  might  presume,  said  the  corporal,  to  differ 
from  your  honour — 

Why  else,  do  I  talk  to  thee,  Trim  :  said  my  uncle 
Toby,  mildly— 

Then  I  would  begin,  an'  please  your  honour,  with 
making  a  good  thundering  attack  upon  her,  in  return, 
and  telling  her  civilly  afterwards,  for  if  she  knows 
anything  of  your  honour's  being  in  love,  beforehand 
— L — d  help  her  !  she  knows  no  more  at  present  of  it, 
Trim,  said  my  uncle  Toby — than  the  child  unborn. 

Now,  quoth  the  corporal,  setting  his  left  hand  a 
kimbo,  and  giving  such  a  nourish  with  his  right,  as 
just  promised  success,  and  no  more — if  your  honour 
will  give  me  leave  to  lay  down  the  plan  of  this  attack — 

Thou  wilt  please  me  by  it,  Trim,  said  my  uncle  Toby, 
exceedingly — and  as  I  foresee  thou  must  act  in  it  as 
my  aide-de-camp,  here's  a  crown,  corporal,  to  begin 
with,  to  steep  thy  commission. 

Then,  an'  please  your  honour,  said  the  corporal 
(making  a  bow  first  for  his  commission) — we  will  begin  . 
with  getting  your  honour's  laced  clothes  out  of  the 
great  campaign  trunk,  to  be  well-aired,  and  have  the 
blue  and  gold  taken  up  at  the  sleeves,  and  I'll  put 
your  white  Ramallie  wig  fresh  into  pipes,  and  send 


MY  UNCLE  TOUT.  189 

for  a  tailor,  to  have  your  honour's  thin  scarlet  breeches 
turned. 

I  had  better  take  the  red  plush  ones,  quoth  my  uncle 
Toby. 

Thou  wilt  get  a  brush  and  a  little  chalk  to  my 
sword. 

And  your  honour's  two  razors  shall  be  new  set — and 
I  will  get  my  Montero  cap  furbished  up,  and  put  on 
poor  Lieutenant  Le  Fever's  regimental  coat,  which 
your  honour  gave  me  to  wear  for  his  sake— and  as 
soon  as  your  honour  is  clean  shaved,  and  has  got  your 
clean  shirt  on,  with  your  blue  and  gold,  or  your  fine 
scarlet — sometimes  one  and  sometimes  t'other — and 
everything  is  ready  for  the  attack  —  we'll  march  up 
boldly,  as  if  'twas  to  the  face  of  a  bastion  ;  and  whilst 
your  honour  engages  Mrs.  Wadman  in  the  parlour,  to 
the  right,  I'll  attack  Mrs.  Bridget  in  the  kitchen,  to 
the  left ;  and,  having  seized  that  pass,  I'll  answer  for 
it,  said  the  corporal,  snapping  his  fingers  over  his  head 
— that  the  day  is  our  own. 

I  wish  I  may  but  manage  it  right ;  said  my  uncle 
Toby — but  I  declare,  corporal,  I  had  rather  march  up 
to  the  very  edge  of  a  trench. 


As  the  ancients  agree,  brother  Toby,  said  my  father, 
that  there  are  two  different  and  distinct  kinds  of  love, 
according  to  the  different  parts  which  are  affected  by 
it, — the  brain  or  liver, — I  think  when  a  man  is  in  love 
it  behoves  him  a  little  to  consider  which  of  the  two 
he  is  fallen  into. 

...What  signifies  it,  brother  Shandy,  replied  my 
uncle  Toby,  which  of  the  two  it  is,  provided  it  will 
but  make  a  man  marry,  and  love  his  wife,  and  have  a 
few  children  1 

...A  few  children  !  cried  my  father,  rising  out  of  his 
chair,  and  looking  full  in  my  mother's  face,  as  he 
forced  his  way  betwixt  hers  and  Dr.  Slop's—  a  few 


190  THE  STORY  OF 

children  !  cried  my  father,  repeating  my  uncle  Toby's 
words,  as  he  walked  to  and  fro — 

Not,  my  dear  brother  Toby,  cried  my  father,  re- 
covering himself  all  at  once,  and  coming  close  up  to 
the  back  of  my  uncle  Toby's  chair,  -  not  that  I  should 
be  sorry  hadst  thou  a  score : — on  the  contrary,  I 
should  rejoice, — and  be  as  kind,  Toby,  to  every  one  of 
them  as  a  father. 

My  uncle  Toby  stole  his  hand,  unperceived,  behind 
his  chair,  to  give  my  father's  a  squeeze. 

There  is,  at  least,  said  Yorick,  a  great  deal  of  reason 
and  plain  sense  in  Captain  Shandy's  opinion  of  love  : 
and  'tis  among  the  ill-spent  hours  of  my  life,  which  I 
have  to  answer  for,  that  I  have  read  so  many  flourish- 
ing poets  and  rhetoricians  in  my  time,  from  whom  I 
never  could  extract  so  much. . . 

I  wish,  Yorick,  said  my  father,  you  had  read  Plato  ; 
for  there  you  would  have  learnt  that  there  are  two 
loves... I  know  there  were  two  religions,  replied  Yorick, 
among  the  ancients : — one  for  the  vulgar, — and  another 
for  the  learned ; — but  I  think  one  love  might  have 
served  both  of  them  very  well... 

It  could  not,  replied  my  father, — and  for  the  same 
reasons ;  for,  of  these  loves,  according  to  Ficinus's 
comment  upon  Velacius,  the  first  is  ancient, — without 
mother, — the  second  begotten  of  Jupiter  and  Dione... 

Pray  brother,  quoth  my  uncle  Toby,  what  has  a 
man  who  believes  in  God  to  do  with  this  1. .  .My  father 
could  not  stop  to  answer,  for  fear  of  breaking  the 
thread  of  his  discourse. 

This  latter,  continued  he,  partakes  wholly  of  the 
nature  of  Venus. 

The  first,  which  is  the  golden  chain  let  down  from 
Heaven,  excites  to  love  heroic,  which  comprehends  in 
it,  the  desire  of  philosophy  and  truth  ; — the  second — 

I  think  the  having  children  as  beneficial  to  the 
world,  said  Yorick,  as  the  finding  out  of  the  longitude. 


MY  UNCLE  TOST.  igl 

To  be  sure,  said  my  mother,  love  keeps  peace  in  the 
world. . . 

In  the  house— my  dear,  I  own... 

It  replenishes  the  earth,  said  my  mother. . . 

But  it  keeps  Heaven  empty,— my  dear,  replied  my 
father. . . 

'Tis  Virginity,  cried  Slop,  triumphantly,  which  fills 
paradise... 

Well  pushed,  nun  !  quoth  my  father. . . 

My  father  had  such  a  skirmishing,  cutting  kind  of 
a  slashing  way  with  him  in  disputations,  thrusting 
and  ripping,  and  giving  every  one  a  stroke  to  remem- 
ber him  by  in  his  turn, — that  if  there  were  twenty 
people  in  company, — in  less  than  half  an  hour  he  was 
sure  to  have  every  one  of  'em  against  him. 

What  did  not  a  little  contribute  to  leave  him  thus 
without  an  ally  was  that  if  there  were  anyone  post  more 
untenable  than  the  rest  he  would  be  sure  to  throw 
himself  into  it ;  and,  to  do  him  justice,  when  he  was 
once  there,  he  would  defend  it  so  gallantly  that 
'twould  have  been  a  concern,  either  to  a  brave  man, 
or  a  good-natured  one,  to  have  seen  him  driven  out. 

Yorick,  for  this  reason,  though  he  would  often 
attack  him, — yet  could  never  bear  to  do  it  with  all 
his  force. 

Doctor  Slop's  Virginity  had  got  him  for  once  on 
the  right  side  of  the  rampart,  and  he  was  beginning 
to  blow  up  all  the  convents  in  Christendom  about 
Slop's  ears,  when  Corporal  Trim  came  into  the  par- 
lour to  inform  my  uncle  Toby,  that  his  thin  scarlet 
breeches,  in  which  the  attack  was  to  be  made  upon 
Mrs.  Wadman,  would  not  do  ;  for,  that  the  tailor,  in 
ripping  them  up,  in  order  to  turn  them,  had  found 
they  had  been  turned  before — Then  turn  them  again, 
brother,  said  my  father  rapidly,  for  there  will  be 
many  a  turning  of  'em  yet  before  all's  done  in  the 
affair— They  are  as  rotten  as  dirt,  said  the  corporal — 
Then  by  all  means,  said  my  father,  bespeak  a  new 


192  THE  STOBY  OF 

pair,  brother — for  though  I  know,  continued  my 
father,  turning  himself  to  the  company,  that  widow 
"VVadman  has  been  deeply  in  love  with  my  brother 
Toby  for  many  years,  and  has  used  every  art  and  cir- 
cumvention of  woman  to  outwit  him  into  the  same 
passion,  yet  now  that  she  has  caught  him,  her  fever 
will  be  passed  its  height. — 

She  has  gained  her  point. 

In  this  case,  continued  my  father,  which  Plato,  I  am 
persuaded,  never  thought  of — Love,  you  see,  is  not  so 
much  a  sentiment  as  a  situation,  into  which  a  man 
enters,  as  my  brother  Toby  would  do.  into  a  corps,  no 
matter  whether  he  loves  the  service  or  no — being 
once  in  it,  he  acts  as  if  he  did. 

The  hypothesis,  like  the  rest  of  my  father's,  was 
plausible  enough,  and  my  uncle  Toby  had  but  a 
single  word  to  object  to  it,  in  which  Trim  stood  ready 
to  second  him — but  my  father  had  not  drawn  his  con- 
clusion.— 

For  this  reason,  continued  my  father  (stating  the 
case  over  again),  notwithstanding  all  the  world  knows, 
that  Mrs.  AVadman  affects  my  brother  Toby,  and  my 
brother  Toby  contrariwise  affects  Mrs.  Waclman,  and 
no  obstacle  in  nature  to  forbid  the  music  striking  up, 
yet  will  I  answer  for  it  that  this  self-same  tune  will 
not  be  played  this  twelvemonth. 

We  have  taken  our  measures  badly,  quoth  my 
uncle  Toby,  looking  up  interrogatively  in  Trim's  face. 

I  would  lay  my  Montero  cap,  said  Trim — Now 
Trim's  Montero  cap,  as  I  once  told  you,  was  his 
constant  wager  ;  and  having  furbished  it  up  that  very 
night,  in  order  to  go  upon  the  attack— it  made  the 
odds  look  more  considerable — I  would  lay,  an'  please 
your  honour,  my  Montero  cap  to  a  shilling — was  it 
proper,  continued  Trim  (making  a  bow)  to  offer  a 
wager  before  your  honours. — 

There  is  nothing  improper  in  it,  said  my  father — 
'tis  a  mode  of  expression  ;  for  in  saying  thou  would'st 


MY  UNCLE  TOST.  193 

lay  thy  Montero  cap  to  a  shilling,  all  thou  meanest 
is  this,  that  thou  believest — 

— Now,  what  clo'st  thou  believe  1 

That  widow  Wadman,  an'  please  your  worship,  can- 
not hold  it  out  ten  days 

After  a  series  of  attacks  and  repulses  in  a  course  of 
nine  months  in  my  uncle  Toby's  quarter,  my  uncle 
Toby,  honest  man  !  found  it  necessary  to  draw  off  his 
forces  and  raise  the  siege  most  indignantly.  The 
shock  he  received  in  this  affair  with  the  widow  Wad- 
man fixed  him  in  a  resolution  never  more  to  think  of 
the  sex. 


Here  my  heart  stops  me  to  pay  to  thee,  my  dear 
uncle  Toby,  once  for  all,  the  tribute  I  owe  thy  good- 
ness. Here  let  me  thrust  my  chair  aside,  and  kneel 
down  upon  the  ground  whilst  I  am  pouring  forth  the 
warmest  sentiments  of  love  for  thee,  and  veneration 
f  orvthe  excellency  of  thy  character,  that  ever  virtue  and 
nature  kindled  in  a  nephew's  bosom.  Peace  and  com- 
fort rest  for  evermore  upon  thy  head  !  Thou  enviedst 
no  man's  comforts,  insulted  no  man's  opinions.  Thou 
blackened'st  no  man's  character,  devoured'st  no  man's 
bread ;  gently,  with  faithful  Trim  behind  thee,  didst 
thou  amble  round  the  little  circle  of  thy  pleasures, 
jostling  no  creature  in  thy  way  ;  for  each  one's  sorrow 
thou  hadst  a  tear,  for  each  man's  need  thou  hadst  a 
shilling  ! 


The  corporal — 

Tread  lightly  on  his  ashes,  ye  men  of  genius,  for  he 
was  your  kinsman  : 

Weed  his  grave  clean  !  ye  men  of  goodness— for  he 
was  your  brother.  Oh  corporal !  had  I  thee,  but  now 
— now,  that  I  am  able  to  give  thee  a  dinner  and  pro- 
tection— how  would  I  cherish  thee !  thou  should'st 

13 


i94  THE  STORY  OF  MY  UNCLE  TOBY.          * 

•wear  thy  Montero  cap  every  hour  of  the  day,  and 
every  day  of  the  week — and  when  it  was  worn  out,  I 
would  purchase  thee  a  couple  like  :  but  alas  :  alas  : 
alas :  now  that  I  can  do  this,  in  spite  of  their 
reverences,  the  occasion  is  lost,  for  thou  art  gone  ;  thy 
genius  fled  up  to  the  stars  from  whence  it  came  ;  and 
that  warm  heart  of  thine,  with  all  it's  generous  and 
open  vessels,  compressed  into  a  clod  of  the  valley  ] 

But  what— what  is  this,  to  that  future  and  dreaded 
page,  where  I  look  towards  the  velvet  pall,  decorated 
with  the  military  ensigns  of  thy  master — the  first — 
the  foremost  of  created  beings  ;  where,  I  shall  see 
thee,  faithful  servant !  laying  his  sword  and  scabbard 
with  a  trembling  hand  across  his  coffin,  and  then 
returning  pale  as  ashes  to  the  door,  to  take  his 
mourning  horse  by  the  bridle,  to  follow  his  hearse,  as 
he  directed  thee  ;— where — all  my  father's  systems 
shall  be  baffled  by  his  sorrows ;  and,  in  spite  of  his 
philosophy,  I  shall  behold  him,  as  he  inspects  the 
lackered  plate,  twice  taking  his  spectacles  from  off 
his  nose  to  wipe  away  the  dew  which  nature  has  shed 
upon  them.  When  I  see  him  cast  in  the  rosemary 
with  an  air  of  disconsolation,  which  cries  through  m'y 
ears.  Oh  Toby  !  in  what  corner  of  the  world  shaU  I 
seek  thy  fellow  1 

Whilst  I  am  worth  a  shilling  to  pay  a  weecler,  thy 
path  from  thy  door  to  thy  bowling-green  shall  never 
be  grown  up.  Whilst  there  is  a  rood  and  a  half  of 
land  in  the  Shandy  family,  thy  fortifications,  my  dear 
uncle  Toby,  shall  never  be  demolished  ! 


BILLING,  PUIXTF.R,   GUII.DFOUD. 


/.**>c^-;^ 


